Just a Farm Girl
by Sapphira603
Summary: Malon's safe and boring life takes a turn for the worse when her father becomes ill and Ingo begins to make her uncomfortable. As the situation begins to escalate, can Malon find a way to take back her life?
1. Chapter One

I suddenly become aware of the softness beneath me, and I realize that my breathing has been compromised because I'm lying face down. I quickly turn my head to the side, remembering in my hazy state that some people have been smothered by pillows. The light is in my face, and I groan; it feels as if it's piercing my brain, the part of me that does _not_ like to function at sunrise. 

And I realize that it's sunrise; I have to get up. I squeeze my eyes shut and wish that I had the day off. Of course I don't have the day off. Farm girls don't get days off. We have to force ourselves to be up, dressed, and breakfasted before you even have to consider being awake, and by the time you're finally sitting on the edge of your bed, stretching and sighing, we've done more work than you'll manage to do today.

I need to get up. I count to three out loud and force myself into a sitting position somehow. The sun is barely above the horizon. I win. I pull off my nightgown and reached blindly into my drawer to pull out undergarments, and after struggling in my dazed state to get them on properly, I pull on a work dress and my boots. I'm ready to go, damnit.

I creep into the hallway and down the stairs. There are still snores coming from my father's room as I pass his door. I frown; this is the fifth day in a row that my father has slept in. I am afraid to say anything to him; he _is_ getting older. But I now have to do more and more of his chores. I sigh to myself as I get the fire under the stove started. Soon, I have eggs and pancakes all ready for breakfast, and I set aside a fair amount for Dad; he'll be down at some point, and he'll just warm them in the oven.

Ingo walks in right as I put the final pancake on the top of the stack. Ingo sleeps in a small room built off of the main building, but my dad must have been drunk when he built it; the door leads outside, not inside, so Ingo has to exit and reenter the house. I like the arrangement because the creak in the door gives me fair warning.

Extra work bothers me, but it's not the worst part about Dad sleeping really late and going to bed really early. The worst part is enduring the constant sexual harassment that has resulted from the lack of parental supervision.

I roll my eyes as Ingo starts openly at my chest and greets me with, "Good mornin', sweet cakes." He sits at my father's place at the table, something that he knows ticks me off, and stuffs his napkin into his collar. It doesn't hide the beer stains on his shirt.

"Good morning, Ingo," I reply as I place the food on the table. I sit on the opposite side of the table. I consider sitting at an angle from him so that I don't have to make eye-contact, but I'd rather be as far away as possible. I quickly take my share of food because I know that Ingo is going to devour the rest. He doesn't reach for the food, though, and although I don't know it, in a second, the harassment will get worse.

"Is something wrong?" I ask. I am asking in a concerned tone of voice, but an annoyed one.

"I'm waiting," he replies, sticking his nose into the air. I snort at his appearance. He looks like the idiot that he is.

"For what?" I ask before putting a forkful of delicious (if I may say so myself) pancake into my mouth. If it weren't for this awesome food I make, I wouldn't be able to get anything done until lunch.

"My _food_, you simple wench," Ingo sneers across the table. So now he wants me to serve him his breakfast?

I know that this is going to escalate quickly if I don't get out of this kitchen. I pause for a moment and start to look frantically around the room. I spot a clean dishtowel and get up to grab it. My plan is to put my breakfast in it (it's going to be messy) and eat it while I do my chores.

I lose my appetite as soon as I hear his chair moving. I feel him coming up behind me; what does he plan to do? I do the only thing that comes to mind. Shouting something about not being hungry, I managed to dash past Ingo and out the door.

He doesn't follow me, and I thank the Goddesses. I hide in the loft for a few minutes to recover, but I know I have to do those damn chores. But even the chores are preferable to sitting at a table with a hungry Ingo, although for food or something else, I don't know.

My father is becoming lazier and more distant, our ranch hand is becoming much bolder, and I continue to do all my chores, day in and day out. I drop down from the loft and brush the hay off of my dress and out of my hair. Epona's stall is next to the ladder, and she reaches out to pull off some of the stray straws. Epona is one of my only two friends, and I'm thankful for the comfort that her attention brings. I hug her neck briefly and then begin my chores.


	2. Chapter Two

I don't know why I even bother getting up. The window is open, and sunlight pours onto my face until it burns. I feel hot, sticky, and horrible; I don't even contemplate staying in bed another second. I rub my eyes and cringe at the crust that comes off onto my fists. Part of me knows that it's slightly disgusting, but another part of me tells me that this is what happens when I cry myself to sleep.

That's when I notice that there is strong light streaming through the window. I have slept in! I run up to the small clock on my dresser, which I wind every night without fail. It's ten o'clock, and I should have been up four hours ago at least. I have never slept in this late before; I have been known to sleep an extra hour at the most some mornings, but I stand in front of my clock, shaking, hoping this is a dream.

I don't wake up, and I decide that I cannot force back the hands of the clock, and I cannot push the sun back below the horizon. I wash up and dress faster than I ever have in my life, and my mind boils over as I try to figure out whether I should eat something before beginning chores that should have been completed hours ago. Then I recall that Dad never ate his breakfast yesterday; I had to make him some broth and bring it to his bedside. At least I could eat the eggs and pancakes that had been sitting in the icebox; the temperature would be punishment for my tardiness.

But there is another punishment for my tardiness, and an insulting one at that. I barrel down the stairs and into the kitchen to find Ingo sitting at the head of the table. His napkin is tucked into his collar, and his glare makes me feel ill for a moment. How long has he been sitting here? Oh, no, don't tell me…

"Four hours late for breakfast, wench," he growls. He hasn't even bothered to pull out the earthenware plates or the silverware. He sits there, waiting, with his napkin. At least I was resting, building up energy that will help me work even faster today. I can accomplish my day's work in a shorter amount of time with this energy. And then it dawns on me.

"Have you been sitting here this whole time?" I ask incredulously.

He scoffs. "And what have _you_ been doing?" he sneers. "I came in for breakfast, and breakfast wasn't here. So I waited."

I am furious, and I feel my face heat up. It's as warm as it was this morning, but the heat comes from me instead of the sun. "I slept in!" I hissed. "You were conscious and fully able to work! Because of your laziness, you will not be receiving your week's wages." His wages, I hope, have some power over him. I see his face darken, which fills me with relief and fear. I am relieved to know that his wages do indeed influence him so, but I am terrified of the ramifications of my decree.

"Where's my food, _wench?_" The term is demeaning, and it has always been demeaning. I grab a dishtowel, which I hope is clean, and reach into the icebox. I pull out the pancakes with the dishtowel, but the eggs I pull out with my hands. As I walk out the door, past Ingo, I drop the eggs onto the table in front of him. He glares at the frigid and gelatinous mass which I give him for his breakfast, and I turn around and walk out the door.

I eat my breakfast, which is almost lunch, in the loft, which I had planned to do yesterday. I feel safe up here, safer than I do in my room. Ingo knows about the loft, certainly, and he has easy access to it, as I do. It's that he simply never comes here. There is no explanation for that, but it makes me feel content.

The pancakes are freezing, but there's a small hole in the roof near the edge of the loft. I let yesterday's breakfast grow slightly warm and soggy in some places while sitting beneath the ray of sunlight. My punishment has turned from cold breakfast, to Ingo, to soggy, warm, icy, and cold breakfast at the same time. It tastes terrible.

I manage to get my morning chores finished by the early afternoon, and I head inside to make lunch. Ingo is gone, but the eggs remain for me to clean. While I first think that cleaning the eggs would be giving in to Ingo for some strange reason, I decide that _I_ would be more upset about the disgusting food on the table than he would be. I clean up, and it reeks. I hope they haven't stained the table.

I set lunch out for Ingo (and hide some for myself) before heading up to Dad's room with some broth. He's having a hard time chewing, so I make sure the rice and carrots are soft and water-logged. I push open the door and place the tray on a nearby table. He's still asleep, and he looks much paler than he did yesterday. Is he getting worse? Well, it's almost two o'clock in the afternoon, and he's still sound asleep. I feel guilty as I shake him out of his slumber so I can feed him food he says he doesn't want.

Ingo is waiting for me to serve him lunch, and I am angry. I grab a bowl and quickly fill it with cucco and vegetables that I have made, and I run out the door before he can even eye me. The loft is once again my destination. I wish I had grabbed a fork or a napkin, since I will have to eat my lunch with my hands. I wonder briefly if my hands will be as greasy after eating lunch as Ingo's are after running his hands through his hair. I shudder as the image of those greasy hands touching me flits through my head. And I still have more chores to do.

* * *

Sorry for the long and horrible delay. I have a new computer that kicks certain ass, but it has none of my documents on it. I hope that this chapter recaptures your interest, and I once again apologize for this crime of a delay. 


	3. Chapter Three

I am so relieved when I wake up and the sun is taking longer to get up than I am. I am up and dressed much earlier than I usually am, and by the time breakfast is on the table, Ingo is still asleep. I know this because I press my ear up against the wall, and I hear him snoring heavily. I hide some extra food in a corner of the icebox in case I have to eat in the loft, I shovel breakfast down my throat, and I rush outside into the chilly dawn.

I wish I had brought a shawl. Autumn has arrived over night, it seems, although I know that the weather should warm up as the sun rises. I shiver as I feed the cows. They don't have a thick layer or fur or hair, but they are still warmer than I am. I shake my head in jealousy.

There is so much time to think while doing my chores, I sometimes wonder if I'll do something wrong. If I'm not paying attention, will I accidentally forget to feed the cuccos? Will I do a poor job of changing the straw in the stalls? What if I step on the vegetables that I'm supposed to be picking up and putting into a basket?

None of these things has happened so far, and so I continue to think as I work. My mind drifts away and imagines warmer weather, fine breakfasts, the latest fashions (which I never can afford), boys…

But lately, my thoughts drift back to fear, which they do now. I have two fears that consume me these days. The first fear that grips me as I spread out the corn for the chickens is that Dad will die. I know how to run the ranch…but I don't, really. It's not that I can't do it, but I don't want to do it yet. I can't even get the hired help to respect me, which brings me to my second fear.

I'm afraid of Ingo. I know that my fear will make things easier for him and harder for me, but I'm terrified nonetheless. I am taking every step to protect myself from any more advances. He knows this; I can see it in is face. My fear makes him bolder.

He has already groped me, hit me. As I remember, I can feel his hairy hand squeezing my chest. I feel the pain again, and I can almost see the grease stain that he left. And that was before Dad got sick. The first night after Dad slept in and went to bed early, Ingo decided that dinner wasn't satisfactory. I was incredibly thankful that no one came by the ranch until the mark on my face faded. Dad was too ill to notice, which was not as fortunate.

What have I been doing wrong? What have I done to make Ingo treat me like this? What have I done to destroy Dad's health? Why is this mess my fault, even? I guess I can't think of a better way to explain this other than taking the blame myself.

Too soon, it's time for lunch. Ingo isn't in the kitchen, but I know he's not doing his job. And of course he isn't; if he's not getting his week's wages anyway. By retaliating, I am now stuck with more chores and work than before. But at least I have lunch to myself, and I eat in peace. Dad's lunch is the same as yesterday; he is still pale, unresponsive, and slick with sweat, and I still spoon broth into his mouth, dreading the day I have to remove the carrots and rice so he no longer has to chew.

By dinner, I'm finished with my work and Ingo's. The horses and cows are brushed and fed, and their stalls are clean. The chickens are fed and in their coop. The eggs are in a basket in the icebox with today's milk and vegetables. The house is as clean as I can make it. I have fixed the creak in the front gate, which I also closed for the night. I have also changed the hay in the loft for my own personal use.

I start dinner earlier than usual, partially in the hopes that Ingo will come in when I'm finished eating, and partially because I have nothing else to do. I used to sing in the corral when I had free time. Now, I simply find something else to do, and hope that I don't finish work so early. Last time I sang, Ingo came by. I seem to have lost my singing voice since then.

And now, Ingo stomps into the kitchen, his face a mask of cool indifference that fails to hide his anger that _I_ don't seem angry. Of course I am angry, but I want dinner to be over and done with. The more he stares and glares, the more I want to disappear into the crack in the floorboards, the one closest to the stair case. It has a slight whorl in it, and it was familiar and safe. It would be a safe place for me to hide.

I spoon out my food onto my earthenware plate; if I take too much, Ingo gets angry, but if I take too little, I'll need to eat more breakfast in the morning. The last thing I want to do it spend more time at a table with Ingo than I have to. I finish putting the spoon for the rice back into the bowl, when I hear a grunt.

"I'm waiting, you stupid girl," Ingo hisses at me. I drop the spoon, and while the bowl end lands in the dish of rice, the handle ricochets off of the edge, and the spoon falls to the table. Pieces of rice fly in different directions, and a single grain lands on Ingo's plate. I stare at it, thinking the one grain is all I'll be serving him.

I am in pain all of a sudden. My shoulder is burning with the shock of it. My jaw aches and the rusty taste of blood fills my mouth. I feel a harsh tugging at my scalp, and my first coherent thought as I realize what is happening is of the grease that I now have to wash out of my hair.

The assault ends with another grope at my chest, as well as one on my rear, and I feel shame flooding my body. And then Ingo is gone, and there is rice all over the table. I no longer care about how hungry I'll be when I wake up tomorrow. All I care about is washing the stench out of my hair, out of the pores in my skin. The bruises on my face and arms and the cut on my lip are all secondary in my thoughts as I bolt up the stairs. I trip and fall, and I know that there will be another splotch of darkness on my thigh tomorrow. But I need to draw a bath, and I need to do it now.


	4. Chapter Four

I cannot continue to fool myself any longer. There is too much work for me to do right now. Ingo grows more violent every time I try to retaliate. I've cut off his wages, but he simply refuses to do his own job. I cannot tell Dad…I just can't. It's shameful enough as it is. I cannot get rid of Ingo, and I can't run away, or Dad will die. I have one option left to me.

I only have a few pieces of parchment in my small writing case. I frown; my lack of resources is going to severely hamper any chances of finding good hired help. And if I'm going to be paying another person's salary, I won't be able to purchase new writing supplies.

I dip my pen in ink and shake it carefully out; blotches on this paper may lead a potentially good hand to think that I am simple and disregard the advertisement, or a potentially bad hand to think the same and take the job, slowly wasting my time and money.

But what am I supposed to write? "I have no idea what jobs you'll do, but we'll figure something out?" No, I need to have set jobs on the ad, although I know I can allow for a little freedom in case something comes up. Where will he or she sleep? I have to keep in mind that there are women and men who might want the job, although I can't remember which gender I originally had in mind when I thought of hiring someone. And where will they stay? We have no extra rooms in our house. I cannot kick Ingo out for fear of my life, but in case I hire a man, he cannot sleep in my room. I blush at the thought, and make a great sacrifice; I will have to give up the loft, my place of solace. I hope that it ends up being a small price to pay, or maybe the new farm hand won't mind if I live there more often than in my room. I sigh heavily and pick up my parchment.

With the neatest handwriting I can possibly use, I begin to write:

_Position available: Farm hand. Jobs include taking care of livestock and cattle, taking care of horses, cleaning stable, as well as various chores relating to the above. Pay to be negotiated. Food and board included. Please contact Malon at Lon Lon Ranch if interested._

The ad looks much more juvenile and pathetic after I write it than it did in my head. Will anyone actually take my desperate attempt at hiring someone seriously? I can imagine townsfolk milling about, glancing at the notice board and seeing my poor attempt at advertising. I see them shaking their heads in dismay at my feebleness, and pointing out the parchment to their friends and neighbors. I feel my resolve to place the ad waver, but the scars on my body heat up suddenly, reminding me that things cannot get much worse. If I have a farm hand, I at least don't have to handle two jobs at once in addition to Ingo.

Another thought creeps into my mind. Do I have another reason for wanting a farm hand? Yes, I acknowledge reluctantly. I wish I had another person here on the ranch, someone I could talk to. Dad is sick, Ingo is horrible in so many ways, and Epona, while wonderful, is only a horse. And my only other friend hasn't visited in ages. A farm hand would give me another soul to converse with, I hope.

I saddle up Epona and pull myself up, trying not to bend or fold the parchment I clutch in my hand. Epona's been back at the ranch for a while now, and that worries me. Doesn't he need her for anything? Epona's been here for months now, when she used to be back only for a couple days or weeks at a time. It's nice to have her back, though. She has been my comforter recently, and I love her all the more for it.

The ride to the castle town is longer than I remember, and now that I am free (although temporarily) from my isolation, I feel as if I'm slowly expanding outwards without all the fences and walls of the ranch to press me in. This lengthy trip and the strange feelings that I get do no seem worth the five minutes it will take for me to pin up my ad. I could be mucking the stable, for Goddess' sake…but this is why I need a farm hand.

I arrive outside of the gates and tie Epona up with the rest of the horses, who graze and twitch their tails every few moments. My eyes linger on her for a moment before I turn to the bridge and walk over it with as much confidence as I can muster. It's more than I thought I would have, I suppose. Being away from the ranch makes everything seem a little more distant, as if everything is happening to a friend of a friend, not me. But there is a bruise on my thigh that throbs every so often, and one of these pangs throws me back into the realm of reality.

I push my way through the throngs of merchants, peasants, villagers, guards, children, and customers until I'm standing in front of the message post, my parchment and pins in my trembling hand. I feel invisible at first, but as I find a spot to pin up my plea for help, I can feel eyes boring into the back of my skull. I turn around quickly, but no one is really facing in my direction. I finish putting up the ad as the feeling of eyes returns, and as soon as I am done, I bolt out of the marketplace as fast as I can without seeming terribly strange.

As I debate between pushing Epona (I have so many chores!) and slowing her (I don't want to go back), I wonder what's gone wrong with me. Years ago, I was strong, vivacious, stubborn, and out-spoken. Now, I can't even run a ranch by myself. If it weren't for Dad, I'd pack my things and my memories, jump onto Epona, and ride into the sunset, going nowhere, but leaving nowhere as well.

* * *

Thank you all for the reviews. While I appreciate all of your reviews very much (I **do**, so _there_), please do not send me reviews suggesting that Malon kick Ingo's ass. I'm trying to explore some of the dimensions of sexual assault, rape, domestic violence and abuse, etc. I _want_ you to dislike Ingo, clearly, but I'd appreciate your reviews more if they were centered more on my writing than on how horrible Ingo is. I don't like him much either. But I've learned a lot about abusive relationships recently (no personal experience, thankfully), and I've learned that it's hard for women, no matter how headstrong, to take a stand. 

I hope to update this story relatively frequently. It sure beats homework.


	5. Chapter Five

This chapter is dark. I should probably mention something in the summary.

* * *

Someone is walking in the hallway. I am slowly waking up to the creaks of the floorboards getting louder. Dad can't be up. Today, he was almost unable to open his eyes, and I cannot think of any reason for him to be up and about. And the sound of the creaks seems different and unfamiliar. If Dad is walking around, why isn't he walking faster? This creaking fills my mind with images of buglers and thieves, slowly and softly (but not softly enough) creeping to the door of the unsuspecting victim.

I shake slightly at the thought of being robbed, and I pray that my wild ideas are just thoughts and not reality as the creaking stops. I think wildly of explanations for this occurrence, but none come to mind, not even supernatural ones. As I lie on my back, I glance to the doorway and stifle a scream as I see the shadows of feet; they block the light that shouldn't be in the hallway. It is supposed to be dark, and there is no way I can fool myself into thinking this can be anything except burglary. I have had nightmares about something like this happening to me, and I begin to panic as it becomes even clearer that this is no dream. My heart races, and I have no doubts that the man in the hall can hall can hear my pulse. I'm sure that the King in his castle can hear it like the distant beating of a drum.

The latch clicks, and my panic increases. I force myself to keep my eyes partially closed; I can still see a little through the small gap between my eyelids. The door is now being closed, and Ingo stands in front of it, holding a lantern. I would have laughed at myself years ago, with the reasoning that Ingo had been locked out of his lean-to, or he had heard the horses panicking. But I know better right now; for those things, he would have knocked.

He comes closer, and when I see that he has no weapons in his hands, I shut my eyes just a tiny bit more, which closes them completely. Now I have named the unknown thing that I fear, and that gives me knowledge and power. Of course, I want nothing more than to wake up screaming, but I know I'm not asleep. Now that I know that there is no bugler, only Ingo, I don't fear for my life or for my belongings. I know he won't kill me, but I am afraid of what I know he wants to do. But I must wait; even with my adrenaline racing, I know that I can catch him by surprise and force him out. He's not that strong; I do much more work than he does. Even if he's stronger than I expect, I am stronger than most women.

It starts as I feel him breathing heavily over me. I almost crack an eye open to see what sort of gleam, if any, he has in his eyes. I wonder what he will try to do first. Either way, I will not let him do lasting harm to me. He has bruised my body, but I will not let him go any further. I feel slightly annoyed; he hasn't even touched me yet. He just stands over me, his horrible breath drifting down into my poor, innocent face. I can hear mucous in his throat.

There it is! A hand roughly massages my breast. I realize now that this treatment would have woken me up had I been sleeping. Should I surprise him now? The pressure is lifted all of a sudden, and I feel him grabbing my left wrist and moving it to the bedpost. Rope grazes my skin, and I realize what he's doing. I may be strong, but I've never tested my strength while tied to my bedposts.

I bat his hand away and push him off of me. He falls to the ground in surprise as I rise from my bed, my nightgown fluttering around me as a draft flows in from the hall. I cross my arms over my chest in anger and in defense; my position is to show him that these are my breasts, and I do not appreciate the unwelcome attention.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I ask in a voice much calmer than I thought it would be. My question is not shouted, nor is it hissed. It is low and loaded, and I don't realize at first that it came from my mouth. It is as if I am two people; my body and my mind quake as I think of what may have happened, and someone else is using me to speak what I cannot say. But do not want to be used, even if it's in my defense. The feeling that came over me as I spoke disappears, and I am once again the trembling Malon, alone but for the sniveling sack of evil that sits on his rear before her.

I gasp indignantly as he glares at me and stands up. How dare he be angry with me when _he_ is the one who is in the wrong! He looks at me as if he can still see two people in me. He sees my body, which he seems to think is his, and he sees my mind, which is keeping him from his prize. But I don't care what he thinks or what he wants. I shiver as he turns and leaves, and I immediately lock my door. I was almost raped just these few moments ago, and the word "rape" echoes through my mind as I fail to fall asleep. Realizations fly through my mind:

_You were lucky, Malon. You were lucky that you remain the keeper of your viriginity. You will not be so lucky if he tries again._


	6. Chapter Six

It has been a week, and no one has been by the ranch. Not only have we had no customers, even our regulars, but no one has come by about my job offer. I am all alone on a ranch with a sick father and a lazy farmhand who is a different kind of sick. After his week without pay ended, he did start up with his work again, but I still find horses escaping from the corral and cows moaning in pain to be milked.

Meals have become unbearable, and so I cook them early and eat in the loft. Before, I was up at dawn, but in order to make breakfast early, the sun begins to rise while I sit in the hay above the still dozing horses and cows. Ingo has shown no sign of getting up early for breakfast, but I'm still trying to think of ways to avoid being in the kitchen with him at any time if he chooses to come to lunch or dinner earlier. I have been lucky so far, just as I was lucky that night.

I hate being alone. When I was younger, I would go to the market with Dad, and I would talk to everyone. Dad would tell me not to talk with strangers, but I couldn't help myself. Other people were fascinating. Older people would tell me stories of their own childhood, or of their children, and other children would invite me to play games as Dad would sell milk to almost everyone in the square.

Now, there is more competition to sell milk, and while Dad is incapacitated, there is no one to take milk to market every week. It's not that he always goes; I've been going much more often. He's getting older, and I need to be in the presence of other people more often than he does. I cannot deal with isolation, and I feel as if the walls of the ranch are slowly closing in on me. One day, I will be unable to escape as I am crushed. My screams will echo across the country.

I am shaken from my depressed thoughts by footsteps on the gravel path that leads into the ranch. I turn around, hoping to see a customer or even a stranger. A stranger might be coming to accept the job offer. I turn and I am stunned to see that neither a customer nor a stranger is walking towards me. My heart rises to my throat.

I have never seen a man more handsome than the one who's walking towards me. He's dressed plainly, but finely, and he has a pack slung over his shoulder. I feel blinded as the sun reflects off of his already golden hair. I scream at myself mentally to get a grip; I've seen my share of cute boys, and this blue-eyed beauty is no different.

As he gets closer, he grins at me, and it hits me: this is no stranger. The mischievous smile is the same as it was so many years ago. As recognition sinks in, anger and sadness rise up in me, as well as betrayal. He is now standing right in front of me. I will not talk first, I will not talk first, I will not talk first, I will not—

"I can't believe you!" I cry as tears begin to well up and spill down my face. "You never wrote, you never visited, nothing!" His startled expression angers me more. "What sort of friend are you! Six years!" I have nothing left to say. My head is full of gibberish as I stare at my long-lost and so-called best friend. My best friend who is better-looking than any other man I've ever been interested in. My best friend who said we would always be friends, friends forever, and then took off one morning and never returned. Well, he did return, since he's standing in front of me. I feel bad for screaming at him without letting him make any explanation in his own defense, but I feel justified by the years of loneliness.

But I am angrier about his timing. Without all three of us healthy and productive, we no longer are making much money. Dad is wasting away, Ingo is trying to rape me, and I'm struggling to keep the ranch from collapsing into itself. The last thing I need is the emotional upheaval caused by the arrival of Link.

But here he is, and here are his arms around me. I can hear him speaking frantically and gently into my ear as I cry. "Malon, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I tried to get here. I tried harder than I ever have before. I wanted to be here so badly. I never wanted to hurt you, never. Please, don't cry, please, listen, please…"

As if his pleas are filled with a magic I don't understand, I stop my tears. My arms are now around his neck, and I hug him with all my might. "Thank the Goddesses you're back," I say. It's hard for me to say anything. My throat is half-closed from crying. "I missed you so much." I relax and pull away, and he's grinning once again, although sadly. He moves a piece of hair, sticky from tears, out of my face. "Now," I say, grinning just a little, "how exactly did you managed to come visit after being tied up for six years?" I can't hide the bitterness in my voice as I say the last two words, and I know I'm making things harder for him.

"Things kept coming up," he says lamely. He's clearly chosen his words. I raise an eyebrow to remind him that I'm not an idiot. "It's hard to explain, you know. I'd be retuning from one adventure, and then I'd immediately be thrown into another." He sighs. "I never asked for any of it. I just want to live normally."

"Then why don't you?" I asked, knowing that my innocent question will frustrate him. I know that he must have tried to live a normal life. "Just quit or something."

He's smiling at me again, which is not the reaction I am expecting. Where's the exclamation of, "I tried, Malon! I tried! I've been trying for six years?" But my stomach drops, and I feel sick as Link pulls out a familiar piece of parchment from his bag. My handwriting laughs at me.

"No, Link, don't joke around with me. That was a serious ad. I don't need you pretending to be my big brother, telling me that it's not a good idea to hire strangers."

He seems hurt, and he frowns. "Malon, I'm not joking." His eyes are earnest. "I want a normal life, and _this_ is it. This is my chance to break away from being the hero all the time." It dawns on me that he's right. "I had finished up a quest," he explains, "and I went to Zelda to deliver the artifact that she needed. I knew that if I stayed another second, she would give me the details of a new assignment. I managed to escape the castle while she was out of the room, putting her prize away.

"I found myself in the market with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Normal people with normal lives have jobs, homes, friends, and family. I had nothing." He pauses. "Well, I had friends," he adds, and I smile. "But I need something, a reason to stop adventuring. I knew I couldn't retire, and I had no desire to do nothing for the rest of my life.

"I found myself in front of the message post, a sea of job offers and rent information glaring at me. I immediately started looking at all the job offers. Most of them were things that I couldn't see myself doing. I'm perfectly literate, but I didn't want to work in the Royal Library, I didn't want to work in an office. And then I saw your ad." I blush rather furiously. The way he says the last sentence makes me feel strange. "I mean, not only would I have a job that involves physical labor, which I'm good at, but I'd have a place to stay." I feel empty for a second. He notices, somehow, even though my facial expression stays the same.

"Malon, there were several job offers for farms on that board. But I couldn't turn down the chance to see you again, to make up as best I can the six years I was away." He looks worried, as if he's afraid of my reaction. But we're friends; what does he think my reaction will be? Does he think I'll yell at him or something? Again?

"Well, then, you're hired," I say. I feel lightheaded and happy. "Fairy boy, it's great to have you back." He hugs me again, even tighter than before, and my smile is so wide that I fear I'll split my lip.

At this moment, Ingo steps out of his lean-to on the way to the barn. His glare freezes me as I stare back. My smile relaxes into a frown as I recall the occasion where _he_ split my lip with the back of his hand. I hug Link as tightly as I can without breaking his neck, and stare back at Ingo with defiance. I now have protection, I hope. The walls of the ranch seem to draw back slightly, it seems. A fire within me stirs from the ashes of an older one.

* * *

Five points to Ryu-sama for asking where Link was.


	7. Chapter Seven

I haven't laughed this much in ages. Epona is ecstatic to see Link; it's been nearly half a year since he last returned her. While he did borrow her from time to time, I would only know because Epona would disappear mysteriously in the middle of the night. Some amount of time later, she would magically reappear. I never believed that she had been stolen; I lock the barn every night. For Link's eleventh birthday, I had given him a key to the gate and barn so he could use Epona whenever he needed.

I show Link around the ranch; in the six years that he was only sneaking into the barn with only the light of the moon to guide him, he hadn't seen any of the new additions to the ranch. We now have a porch off the side of the house, facing the corral. I'm proud that I helped to build the bench that we put on it; Dad and I both put it together, and then we each made carvings on the sides of the arms. Dad had some experience in carving, and he had done a beautiful landscape of the ranch. I had almost no experience, but Dad helped me to carve out horses racing across a plain. My horses were crude, but Dad showed me how to carve their simple bodies to give the impression of a gallop. After he had gone to sleep that night, I had sneaked out of the house and carved my mother's song on a tiny staff in a corner. I am proud of our bench, and I smile at my secret as I show off the arms to Link.

I also show him the new gates we bought for the corral, the chicken coop Ingo made (and Dad had to rebuild shortly after), and my new garden, which is hardly new. I planted it a year after Link had left, but he had never gone farther than Epona's stall. I know that nothing is terribly impressive; the gates are rusting, the coop is battered from rain and wind, and the garden needs weeding as Link smiles and nods at the cabbages. I am sure he's pretending to care, and I feel silly. But if he really is impressed by so many mundane things, then would he be right in the head? Of course not. It's better for him to keep pretending he cares about these things. It makes me feel better.

I'm returning to my old self, thank the Goddesses. I almost feel as if I've regressed to a time before Ingo's perversions, Dad's illness, and my isolation. Being with Link makes me feel as if I'm eleven again, and when I was eleven, Ingo was a friendly worker, Dad was able to finish work early enough to make dinner and put me to bed, and Mom was going to come back from her trip for sure. I love being eleven again. Twelve was when I learned that Mom was never coming back.

Link likes the loft, which is good, since I have no where else to put him. He's below me now, in the barn, talking to Epona. She should be out in the corral now, but he says he's catching up with her and with me at the same time. I've missed Link, and I'm interested in what he has to say, but I'm not listening now as I shove hay farther into a corner. I have to make room for the spare mattress that is now Link's bed for the time being. If he stays long enough, we'll get him a new one, for sure. Or we'll build another room off of the house. I'll make sure that we get it right this time, though; the door will lead into the house, not into the cold.

A low chest of drawers waits outside, and I make room for it where I think Link might like it. I want the loft to be as like as room as possible, since Link is going to want or need a lantern up here at times; when he put down his sack, I spied some books near the top. I worry, though. If he likes books enough to bring some with him, he's going to be disappointed to find that he has hardly any time to read, at least during the day. And by the time the evening rolls around, he'll find himself too tired to light the lantern. I miss books, too, especially since I've been working extra lately.

"Epona, you'd have _hated _it there," Link is saying to Epona in a sing-song voice. I smile and shake my head. Six years ago, he would have been much too serious and shy to do anything of the sort. I remember that when he was being silly, it was when he teased me.

He continues: "The land was horrible and barren," he says with convincing horror. "No grass at _all!_ You would have been hungry. And it was ruled by this terrible and very, very ugly king." He pauses, and I wait for his description of the ensuing battle. "You know, the sort of guy Malon here goes for."

I knew that was coming, and yet I didn't. "Well, Link," I call back down, allowing my old "high and mighty" voice to re-enter my life, "I now hate you doubly for never visiting me. Why didn't you bring news of this incredibly attractive monarch?" I put down my armful of hay and stick my head out the hole in the barn ceiling that is the entrance to the loft. "Link, I know you love me and all, but I'm a true friend." I love the confused look on his face. "And I would have never let the distance between Hyrule and whatever country you're talking about separate us if I had married this wonderful king." He snorts and shakes his head. "No, really, Link. I'm serious. You knew I was on the market!"

He laughs. "Sorry, Malon. But the king resembled Ingo so much, I figured you could just married Ingo, and I could see you whenever I wanted to." He chuckles. I know how he thinks, even after six years. He had a point. Then I got three points. Now he's in the lead with seven. Or so he thinks.

In reality, he's lost. The trick of our game is to tease each other enough, but not too much. Why do we tease? I guess it's to show each other that we're friends through everything, even though we're both incredibly strange individuals. No one's perfect, anyway. We never tally points, but we get points based on our attacks (Link's taunt that I am attracted to evil and ugly men) and our defenses (my play-along and "genuine" unhappiness that Link never mentioned me to this king). We lose automatically when we hit something else, something deep and wrong. And Ingo was just that.

But he can't know. I know Link. He'll demand to see what Ingo has done. He wouldn't worry if I had lied; he would believe me no matter what. He would simply want to see and know the extent of all the damages, physically, mentally, and emotionally, before ripping Ingo into a bloody pulp. But I can't allow Link to do that to himself. Yes, he's a hero, and the people…we all love him. But I am not universally loved. Link will believe me, but will everyone else believe his reason for cold-blooded murder? That's what it would be, and I can't let that happen.

I think all this as I force a laugh at Link's joke, or what he thinks is a joke. He makes a silly face and strokes Epona's face. She tries to eat his hair, and I can't suppress a real giggle at that. A shadow flits over Link's eyes for a moment; does he hear a difference in my laughs? I keep laughing, and I return his silly face. He grins more and I know he suspects nothing.

Soon, he runs out of stories soon after, and he helps me clear out more of the hay. We have a hay fight first, though, which gives us a bit more work to do than before. I'm frowning inwardly at my lost time for other chores, but catching up with Link and having fun is all right. I now have real and eager assistance, and we'll get more work done than usual from now on. I hope we have time for things such as these hay fights.

The hay fight becomes a tickle fight, and the tickle fight ends in exhaustion. I giggle drunkenly and he chuckles. "Fairy boy, I think I've died," I sigh.

He laughs weakly. "Well, that's too bad," he says, with a joking sadness in his voice. "Can't marry that king if you're dead."

Oh, Link. I wish you hadn't said that. My mind flies from the king to Ingo, his supposed twin in appearance and personality, and I twitch involuntarily as I feel the ghost of a hand abusing my chest, and a bruise on my ribs flares suddenly and shortly with pain. Link turns to me suddenly and says something I don't want to hear: "So there was something wrong." His voice isn't angry or accusatory, but soft and full of regret. He knows he lost now. But no, he can't. I won't let him.

"What?" I turn to him and feign confusion as best I can as I sit up, straws sticking out of my hair in all directions. I grin as I pull some out of my bangs and ponytail.

He sits up a bit, and he's not fooled yet. Oh, Link, I'm not trying to hurt you. He frowns a little more deeply. "You got upset earlier, and now you got upset again. I mean, you jumped when—"

"Oh, no!" I say, laughing with more energy than before. Link, stop it. Let me fool you. I've interrupted you for your own good. And what if Ingo knew you knew, and he came into the barn one night with a torch…I can't lose a friend when I need one so much. "I jumped a little because it's getting late," I say, and I am lucky that it's true. The sun is setting now; dinner isn't even close to being on the table, the mattress is still in my room, and the chest of drawers sits outside like a lost child.

"Oh, Goddesses, you're right!" he cries as he sits up all the way. "Sorry, so sorry. Let's go, we've not a moment to lose!" He lifts his voice dramatically at the end, and I giggle again.

"Onwards, friends and warriors!" I shout as we fly down the ladder and bolt to the kitchen. I can eat dinner in the house now, even with the rotten and ugly foreign king.

* * *

Once again:

Please do **not** leave me reviews about how much we all hope Ingo gets what he deserves. Please use the review function intelligently. Tell me _why_ you like the story. Tell me why you don't like it, if you don't. Feel free to ask questions, if you have any, but if you do so, please leave an email address so I can reply. But I don't see why I keep getting reviews about Link totally owning Ingo. Thank you for reading my story, and I'm glad you've read. Please do not undermine my efforts at a serious story by reviewing immaturely. Yes, it's hard not to bash Ingo, but it's _possible_ not to bash him.


	8. Chapter Eight

The rotten and ugly foreign king does not like Link very much. My friend and my abuser got along rather well six years ago, and I distinctly remember Ingo teaching Link a few things about farming. I had overheard Ingo telling Dad that he felt like Link was almost a son to him, and that Dad should considering hiring the boy.

But now _I_ have hired this boy who was now a man, and things were different. Link may be in the dark about the existence of black and blue covering my body, and the connection to Ingo's hands, but he was still my ally first. Ingo's son had betrayed him. Now, his eyes glare at my friend while his hands shovel my food into his mouth. I eat quietly, although Link is trying to stir up conversation. I try to help him out, but it's no use. Ingo is angry, and I am still frightened. Link eventually sighs, and we end the meal in a suffocating silence that is almost deafening.

I grab a ladder and light some of the outside lanterns. By the time Link manages to drag his mattress down the stairs and out the door, the grass around the edges of the house and the barn is illuminated softly so we can see what we're doing. Link is reluctant to put his official bed onto the grass, but he wants to put the ladder away for me. "Link, relax. There will be plenty of work for you to do tomorrow," I remind him, and he stops protesting as I flip the barn door open with my foot and deftly hang the ladder on its hooks. Years of practice make it so easy.

Link still has to put down the mattress when we realize that we never cleaned up from the hay fight. We agree that it will take too long for one of us to clean up, and the grass is relatively lush and dry; the mattress will survive easily (we hope). I light the lanterns in the barn quickly and carefully, and we climb up into the loft.

"Oh, damn," I swear. "I forgot to bring a lantern. I'll be right back; I'm just going to grab one from downstairs."

I feel Link's hand around my wrist, and although I can hear him say that it's no problem, and he can see just fine, in the dim light I can see his hand transform into the hairy and bulging knuckles which have grabbed me, punched me, slapped me, groped me…I jerk my arm a little too roughly away. My eyes are adjusting to the loft, and I can see the look that I hate, the look that says Link knows something is wrong.

"Sorry!" I cry, laughing nervously. "You just scared me for a second when you grabbed my wrist," I explain. He cannot accuse me of lying because this is true. Please, Link, I need to protect you. I need to keep you safe so you can keep me safe…

He accepts this explanation immediately, and his apology drags on until I threaten to bite him (I can joke about that, since Ingo hasn't bitten me yet, and that's great because I'm too young to have rabies). We laugh a bit more as we drag the mattress slowly up the ladder. It doesn't want to cooperate, but we eventually fold it enough to fit through the more square shape of the loft entrance. We place it far enough from the hole in the floor so that Link's first experience in the morning is not slipping down the ladder rungs onto his ass (we agree that this is a good reason). I'm giggling so much that my ribs hurt more than they did when Ingo threw me against a chair.

The chest of drawers is evil! It was very late by the time we managed to drag that wretched piece of junk up to the loft. Link was adamant that I pull from the top and he push from the bottom. "If that thing slips and falls on you, I'll laugh, and you'll be upset," he said. "If it slips and falls on me, you'll laugh at me, and as long as I can breathe, I'll giggle like a school girl." We shook on this for no reason at all. I'm too glad for his friendship to care. I hope I don't get too clingy; the last thing I need is to lose a friend.

Finally, the chest is next to the bed, and for two furnishings (and now, a lantern), the loft has a welcome and homey feel. I finish making the bed with sheets that we brought up in the drawers, and it's nearly midnight. I sigh in exhaustion. How will either of us be able to get up tomorrow? "We're in trouble," I mention to Link. "One of us is going to sleep in, and the other will be a zombie all day."

He turns from his new bed and grins at me. "Then I guess it's bed time!" he says, and I laugh. But then he grabs me around the waist, and we fall back on the bed together.

My first instinct is comforting beyond reason. I am so preoccupied with the fact that I'm lying on a bed with a man that I do not make a connection with Link's arms around me and Ingo's grabbing at me. I giggle in relief, and Link laughs as well, and his laugh turns almost into a giggle as well when I poke him in the side. He sticks his tongue out at me as I sit up and get off of the bed…_his_ bed.

"Good night," I say, sticking my tongue out. "See you way too early for your own good!"

He responds, "Good night, fairest maiden!" before feigning an exaggerated sleep, completely with fetal position and snoring.

I blow out his lantern for him, and then I extinguish the lights downstairs and all around the house. It's well past midnight when I finally enter the house, ready to throw myself onto my bed and sleep.

But Ingo is there, in the kitchen. He's been waiting for me, and to my dismay, he has his belt in his hand. I stand as tall as I can and stare back at him. "You did not get any chores done," he sneers, and I know that this is one part of a list. "You didn't spend enough time with your father." What does _he_ care? Without Dad up and about, he's been out of control with me. "You failed to have dinner ready at an appropriate time." I knew that was coming. "You were not in bed at a timely hour." Ugh, as if he ever is. I know that he takes naps all day to make up for his lost sleep. "And finally," he says as he rises, "you—"

But I'm making a run for the stairs. A snarl of rage reaches for me, and then the belt actually does as it catches my foot. I fall to the ground and my chin splits as it hits one of the stairs that I am so desperately trying to reach. As I struggle, the blood is smeared all over my neck and mouth, and I gag on the metallic smell and taste.

I now draw a bath and wash my body of tonight's battle. Soon, my bathwater is a deep pink, reminiscent of when I bathe during my monthly cycle. But this is not the thick and natural blood of my cycle that only lightly tinges the water, but the blood of a war staining my bath. I wash it on after I wash it off. I frantically come up with an excuse for the bruise on my arm and the cuts on my chin, from the stair and from the splinters. Link has to believe me. I can handle this. I will be all right.

* * *

If menstruation makes you uncomfortable, I'm sorry. But either you're going to experience it, get married to someone who experiences it, or be friends with someone who experiences it. I'm just trying to be a little artistic and include some ideas about the differences between blood, and what is associated with each.


	9. Chapter Nine

My head aches as I step out into the dusk and walk towards the barn. Sleep escaped me last night as I tossed and turned. With every movement, my body screamed and protested, and I spent whatever was left of my night staring at the shadows on my ceiling, my mind full of pain and unease.

By now, I can handle the pain; I am used to it right now. I even have my explanation for Link to explain the cut under my chin and the scraps on the undersides of my arms. I tripped while walking up the stairs, obviously. My chin hit a step, and as I slid down, my arms smacked against the steps as well. How can he not believe me? It's true that I fell down the stairs; Link doesn't need to know that I fell because of Ingo.

Poor Fairy Boy is still asleep, and I wish I don't have to wake him up. No one ever wants to be exhausted on his first day of work, but Link has no choice. Poor, poor Fairy Boy.

"Wake up, Fairy Boy," I say firmly and loudly; he doesn't respond. He just lies there, wrapped in the blankets, and I can see the covers rise and fall with his slow breaths. I feel guilty now; if I had been more focused yesterday, he would have been able to go to sleep earlier…

"Come on, Link," I say again, almost shouting. I finish climbing the ladder, and I tower over his still sleeping form. "It's time to get up!" How heavy a sleeper _is_ this kid anyway? Too heavy. "Get up!" He isn't even stirring! I kneel down, which is rather embarrassing, and begin to shake him relatively vigorously. He begins to shift a little and he lets out a soft grunt. I will have to resort to desperate measures. Shaking my head, I grab the blankets and throw them back, exposing his body, bare chest included, to the cold dawn.

Bare chest. Wow, this is embarrassing. He's definitely grown up, and I definitely shouldn't be getting any sort of glimpse of his chest. I'm getting more than a glimpse now, though, as he quickly regains consciousness. "Ugh, sorry," he mumbles. "Kind of tired."

I shrug. "I know, and I'm sorry we got so distracted yesterday. But we've got to get to work. You'll just sleep extra well tonight." He grunts (in understanding, I hope) and gets up, moving toward the dresser. "Come in for breakfast when you're done getting dressed and washed up," I tell him before dropping back down the ladder and heading back to the kitchen. I'm still nervous about eating a meal in this horrible prison cell, but Link made it bearable at dinner last night; I'm sure his presence can help me now.

Ingo is washing out a pinkish dishrag as I come in to finish breakfast. I don't own any pink dishrags, though, and as I suspected, the stairs and floor are now clean, although a little damp. I smile inwardly; little does Ingo know that I am going to cover up the story of my battle scars anyway, and blood on the stairs would have made sense to Link with the help of my alibi. At least I don't have to clean it up. I already threw up this morning as I washed the rings out of the bathtub; there is something about scrubbing my own blood off of the ceramic that makes me ill. I shouldn't have lost track of time last night. This should have never happened.

Link walks in as I flip the final pancake onto the serving plate. He looks much more alert now than he did earlier, although his eyes are slightly pink, and his eyelids are drooping. Guilt almost overwhelms me, but I give him a reassuring smile as I carry sustenance to the table. I'm happy that he returns my smile.

Ingo is completely silent, but his silence is much more ominous than it was last night. Now, he isn't so very angry about Link being hired. To be honest, he seems rather pleased that Link is about to fall asleep headfirst into his syrup-drenched breakfast (I'm worried that Link actually _might)_. But Ingo's smug silence is directed at me, and I feel tiny. He _knows_, somehow, that I haven't told Link, and more importantly…that I don't plan to. But I have my own victory; I can eat in the kitchen now. Take that, Ingo.

After the meal, Ingo goes back into his room, most likely to sleep. Even if he wasn't up all night being haunted and all, he _was_ up late. While his attack may not have lasted very long, he did have to clean up at some point, and he was on time for breakfast. At least there will be two people doing work today, instead of the one who's been doing everything for a while now.

Link's a sweetheart; he's helping me clean up. Even though I got no sleep at all, I feel more well-rested than he looks. "Sorry, Fairy Boy," I sigh as I hand him a plate to dry.

He doesn't respond for a moment, and I know he's dead tired. "What? Oh." Yeah, he's asleep. "What are you sorry about?"

I frown. Is he just trying to be nice? "I should have kept better track of time yesterday. I'm sorry you got so little sleep."

He laughs. "Malon, relax. Maybe you wouldn't have lost track of time if I hadn't been goofing off or whatever." He shakes his head and places the now dry plate on the counter. "Look, there's no fault or blame involved here, and I'm certainly not upset at you. I would have gone to sleep that late anyway. I haven't exactly been going to bed early these past few years."

I feel a pang of guilt; I hadn't been paying attention to his stories yesterday, so I can't know if I _should_ know this already. Goddesses, I am a mess. I can't do anything right.

Link is incredibly good with animals, although this is totally because of me…I think. Seven years ago, when he first arrived on the ranch, Epona was very nervous around him. I was surprised; usually, she would bolt from everyone except me or Dad. She wouldn't bolt from Mom, either, but Mom had been on vacation for a year already. At this point, I still thought she was alive.

Epona didn't nuzzle Link, either, though. I had never seen her so unsure of a person before. She seemed too nervous to trust this little boy, but not scared enough to run to the far corner of the corral. I was confused, but not by Epona's behavior. I had never seen this boy in my life, but I still felt as if I _had_ seen him. Had I been Epona, I would have reacted in her manner.

Link won't tell me how he knew my mother's song, Epona's song. The strange boy in green whipped out an ocarina and played it, and Epona rushed over to start chewing his hat. My ten-year-old reasoning told me that Mom had met this little boy while she was on vacation, and she had taught him the song.

I know better now, that I am the only one who could have taught him the song, but Link just shrugs at me when I ask him about it. We're in front of the corral, and Epona is eating his shirt. Our animals here have always been rather intelligent, and all of them (horses, cows, cuccos, sheep) seem to have some agreement that if Epona likes someone, they should, too. The cuccos seem a little wary of Link, but otherwise he's got the whole ranch under a spell.

I leave him with chores to take care of the horses, and I go to milk the cows and collect eggs. I hate milking the cows. If this were just a normal farm, things wouldn't be so bad. But we sell this milk, and it's popular. We have a serious number of bovines in this barn, and I have to milk all of them.

The storeroom is connected to the barn, and after I milk each cow, I bring the buckets into the storeroom, where the milk is kept cold by a series of relatively expensive spells. We can afford them easily, though. I will bottle the milk later.

A couple of hours later, I am finally on my way to the chicken coop to steal eggs from the cuccos, and I find Link grooming the horses. Why the hell is he grooming the horses? They aren't going to be in a show or sold or anything. But he is taking care of them, as I've asked him, too. I shout out to him and ask him to go into the barn and put fodder in the mangers for the horses and cows. He gives me a thumbs-up.

The cuccos like me, but they _hate_ when anyone tries to take their eggs. I want to sit them down and explain to them that we're not stealing their babies; we keep the rooster separate so that all of the eggs remain unfertilized. But cuccos don't speak Hylian, and even if they did, they wouldn't actually sit down long enough to listen.

I manage to exit the coop with only two bites, both on my right arm, and more eggs than usual. Most of these I'll sell, and the rest will go to our icebox. I make a trip to the kitchen first; this way, I can go to the barn second, and I can hang out with Link a little bit.

After I've restocked the icebox, it occurs to me that I should tell Dad about Link. Dad knows that I put out an ad, and he'll be happy to know that Link's working here, and not some creepy stranger.

I smile slightly as I walk into Dad's room with a bowl of soup. He's not really getting better, to be honest, but he's stopped getting worse. He's awake now, and I feel guilty; he's too weak to sit up and do anything. He must spend his waking hours lying down or sitting up, staring into space. No wonder he sleeps so much; if you're lying down with nothing to do, you might as well take a nap.

I help him sit up for his meal, and he smiles weakly at me. "Good morning, Dad," I say, even though it's almost afternoon. "I brought you some soup."

"Thanks," he croaks. Goddesses, it hurts to hear him try to talk. I smile at him again as I begin to spoon-feed him the soup.

"I have some good news, Dad." He glances at me as he eats, and I know he's listening. "Someone answered the ad I put out, and I've hired him." His eyebrows lower slightly. "Don't worry, Dad. Long-lost Link returned, and he needed a job."

Dad swallows his mouthful of soup and grins widely. I keep my facial expression the same, but why is he _so_ happy? Well, I was happy that Link took the job, too. How is Dad supposed to react anyway? I need to relax.

Downstairs, bad news is waiting for me in the form of Ingo. He's yelling at me, something about not having lunch ready yet. I've checked the clock, though, and I'm supposed to be getting lunch ready in an hour. I yell back that I don't know what he's talking about.

Suddenly, something cold, gooey, and sharp hits me in the face. Ingo has just thrown an egg at me. Ugh! Not only is this disgusting, but the egg was from my basket, and those eggs are going to be sold. "You idiot!" I shriek at him. "Those are supposed to be for sale!"

I guess he doesn't really care, since he pelts me again, and again. He's hit me with five eggs by the time I grab the basket from him and run to the barn. I put the remaining eggs (of which there are still plenty) into the iceboxes we have, and then I sigh. Egg drips off my face onto the dirt floor, reminding me that I'm covered in eggs and eggshells. I have to take another bath now.

I'm in the barn, walking towards the main door, shaking my head. Thanks to Ingo, this is my second bath in less than twelve hours. I don't have time for this! What did I do?

"Malon, what the hell happened?"

Oh, no. Oh, _no_. Link is in the barn. He was feeding the animals. He saw me run into the storeroom, and he's seeing me now walking out. How am I supposed to explain this without telling him what really happened?

"Oh, um, nothing." I giggle, even though what just happened is not funny at all. Oh, poor Link. He is so confused right now. "I brought the eggs into the house to put away, but first I went to give Dad some breakfast. When I came down, Ingo was in a good mood, and we were joking around." Now he's even more confused. "See, Ingo was tossing eggs to me, and I was catching them and putting them in the icebox."

"Malon, that still doesn't explain –"

"Link, some of the eggs broke," I laugh. "A few of them hit the counter and splattered on me, and some hit me by accident. I'm just going to go wash up." I grin at him and begin to walk out again.

"_Malon_," he says forcefully, and I stop. "Your face is bleeding."

Link doesn't believe my story at all. After he points out that I was bleeding, I rush to my room to discover that he isn't kidding; eggshells have cut my face in different places, and I hadn't noticed the blood running down my skin. Link is not an idiot; I couldn't have been playing around if this had been the result.

I stick to my story, though. Ingo figures out what I told Link, and he carries on the same lie as I rush to take a bath. My dress definitely needs to be washed, too; it's damp with egg, and I throw it to the floor as I fill the bath. I have never been more grateful for the indoor plumbing that we had installed a few years ago, since it allows me to take a bath on such short notice.

After my bath, I examine my face in the mirror. Now that the red has been washed away, I can see where my wounds are. I have a shallow cut on my forehead, above my right eyebrow, a small nick on my nose, and a deeper cut under my eye, which was responsible for the most blood. The bleeding has stopped, at least, and dressed in another work dress, I head back downstairs.

I don't know where he learned how to cook, but Link made a fantastic lunch. One look from him, and I know that he made it because he felt bad for me. Thank you, Link, but I don't need your sympathy. I can cook with cuts on my face.

The silence while we eat is absolutely deafening, and I want to cover my ears or start shouting. Ingo hardly touches his food, which is very strange, but maybe he's just angry because Link cooked, and I should have. Link eats slowly, and it's clear that his mind is elsewhere. It's all I can do not to shovel food into my mouth and run. Soon, I'm finished with my meal, and I begin to clean up.

Ingo goes back to sleep, I guess, and Link comes over to the sink to help me. I shake my head. "I'll do it," I tell him. "It would be great if you could weed the garden, though." I want to be alone. I need to be alone. Link leaves, and I am alone.

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Sorry for the delay, everyone!


	10. Chapter Ten

I wonder if Link is perfect, and that makes me uncomfortable. He's been here for a few weeks now, and either I haven't been working as hard as I thought I was, or he's some sort of magical being. I've never had so much free time in my life, I don't think.

Each morning after breakfast, I milk the cows and collect eggs. Link has decided to take over shearing our few sheep, although this task is relatively infrequent. But he is so good with animals that there's no reason why he shouldn't be in charge of the sheep; those sheep _love _him! And he's not bad with the shears, considering his little experience. He's several thousand times better than Ingo, and he's even better than Dad. Of course, I'm still in the lead, and I am not going to let him forget that.

He mucks the stable faster than Dad and I can together. This is fantastic because mucking is my least favorite job, and Link does it quickly enough that it doesn't bother him (or so he says). So if he mucks while I fill the mangers, we're done with the barn in no time.

I've been able to go into town twice already to sell our produce, and I am pleased with our profit. People haven't forgotten us, and our short absence from the public market has increased our popularity slightly. I am getting sick of people telling me how I've grown, and it makes me uncomfortable to hear the mothers and grandmothers talk about how I would just _love _their sons and grandsons. I wonder how they would react if they knew that Link, every young man's role model, back at the ranch, chucking manure into a pile for fertilizer.

No, I know how they'd react. Most of them would get upset, since many people are unhappy with Link running away from the castle and his "true love," Princess Zelda. It makes me uncomfortable to hear about his supposed relationship with Princess Zelda, and it makes me upset to hear people talking about Link as if he couldn't make his own decisions. He's his own person, for Goddess's sake! He saves the world, something _you _people wouldn't ever do, and you won't give him a break! But then again, what sort of break is farm work? I must have a mentally deranged ranch hand (Link knows I think this).

It's market day again, and I'm up early to pack up the wagon. Link is already in the kitchen, though, as I come down to make breakfast. "Good morning!" he says cheerfully, flipping over an omelet.

I blink several times. Link has grown used to the early mornings, but he's _never _been up before I am. Or he's at least never been in the kitchen before I am. "Um, good morning," I say, wondering if I'm still asleep. "What are you doing?"

He smiles. "Just making breakfast. I thought it would be a nice surprise for you."

He is good at cooking, and I'm tired of playing chef to Ingo. I smell an ulterior motive. "Link, you know what I mean. Why are you up early and making breakfast _other _than for the purpose of being too good to be true?"

He sighs and chuckles at the same time, an interesting combination. He looks slightly worried, though, and uncomfortable. "All right, all right, you win." A-hah! Ulterior motive! I win. "I was thinking…maybe I could go into market today."

I am totally not expecting that. Why would he want to go to market? "Um…" I don't know if I should say yes or not. But he's my friend, and he's been here for almost a month. His only contact with the rest of the world is either when he gets a letter, or a customer drops by (thank Goddess that customers are coming by again). "All right, I suppose." The happiness on his face is worth it, now. "Do you know what to do?"

He doesn't, and so while I chip in to help make the rest of the meal, I fill him in on his instructions. ("Madam Tranna is going to try to get you to lower the price with a sob story about six children and five kittens. Tell her that you know she has dogs," and "Don't leave until everything is sold. If you have to sell to a shop or store at the end of the day, do it. You may only lower the price for them, and only if they insist. If they insist, lower it by five rupees for each bottle of milk, and five rupees for each egg carton," for example). He manages to listen (I check by asking him to repeat random information) and cook at the same time.

Is he perfect or something?

Ingo comes in for breakfast a little late, and we've already begun to eat. Ingo is clearly "pissed," as Link would say, but Ingo can't do anything about it. He's barely done anything recently, except give me glares. Link barely believed the egg story (_I_ barely believed it, which is all right because it wasn't true), and Ingo knows that Link won't continue to believe more stories that are essentially full of crap.

Link insists on cleaning up ("Malon, shut up. It's not a big deal, and you know I have no idea how to pack the wagon,") so I let him. He's right; I have to finish packing the wagon. Soon, I've loaded it with all the bottles of milk and cartons of eggs that we've amassed this week (aside from what we've taken for our own personal use). I also put in our vendor signs so that people know the ranch and the prices. Link already dropped his pack in the front of the wagon, and I smile as I slip in the packing list and the pricing guide.

I feel incredibly silly all of a sudden, but I spy a pencil in Link's pack, and I pick it up slowly. Why not leave a note or something? He's going to read the lists. Chuckling to myself, I scribble, "Fairy Boy, have fun on your quest…to make _money!"_ It's stupid, but I know he'll laugh. I add, "On an actually serious note, if you plan on reading, writing, or drawing to pass the time during lulls, please keep an eye out to reduce the chances of theft while you're relaxing." It's fairly obvious; he has two books and some paper in his pack, as well as writing utensils.

Ten minutes later, Link is off, and as he disappears out of the gate, I wish I could see his reaction when he reads the note. What fun is a reaction if you're not there to see it?

I guess it depends on the reaction, because Ingo's reaction to breakfast starting without him is _not_ a good one. I am an idiot. Link's presence does protect me, but _not while he's away from the ranch_. And now, Ingo has me all alone, and Dad is still sick, and Link is gone, just as he was for six years…

I have chores to do, but Ingo doesn't seem to care as he begins to advance on me. Now, I don't care about my chores either. I bolt to the house, and Ingo is not far behind me. I manage to make it up the stairs this time, but he isn't far behind me.

No! I don't close the door in time! Now Ingo is here, in my room. He latches the door behind him as I back away towards the window. I won't jump, and I think he knows that. Yes, the latch won't lock me in, but if I manage to get to the door, it will take longer to open it and run for my life.

He's been bottling up his rage for these few weeks, since my body flares in pain as he proceeds to beat me to a pulp. I raise my hands in defense, and he twists my arms back. A knee flies into my stomach, and I make a very unattractive grunting noise. He's pulling my hair and squeezing my breasts and rubbing my legs and kicking my sides. I don't know whether he wants to use me or kill me, and I just want it to stop.

Soon, it's over. As I lie on the floor by the window, the light shining across my limp form, I survey the damage. One dress, ripped, lying a few feet away from me. Undergarments, intact. I touch my chest carefully, and I wince. Two whole breasts, bruised severely. I take a look. Bruises in the shape of fingers and hands. Hair, still there, some strands lying near me. Scalp is sore, hair is greasy. Stomach, tender and bruised (knee-shaped). Legs, not bruised, but greasy. Sides, bruised (boot-tips). I manage to pick myself up gingerly, and I take a look in the mirror. I look the same, although my hair is dirty, and the look in my eyes suggests that I was just abused by a greasy farm hand. My arms are also unharmed. In fact, anything that would be visible while wearing clothing is untouched (except for my hair, but that will be clean, and no one will see my scalp). Link won't even suspect that something happened. I don't need to come up with a terrible alibi for this.

But it hurts. Moving hurts a lot. But my threshold for pain grows with every step, and I have chores to finish. I walk downstairs in another dress, and I find Ingo napping in the grass near the porch. But the cows need to be milked, and the eggs need to be stolen from the cuccos, and Epona has a rock in her foot somehow. I have things to do. I don't have time to play damsel in distress.

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Thanks for your reviews, everyone. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Dad is squinting at me as I walk in with lunch. I frown at him. "Is everything okay? How are you feeling?"

He frowns. "Your hair is dirty, and you look upset."

"I'm fine, Dad. I've just been working hard this morning." I pause. "Hey, you're getting better!" He's grinning, although still weakly, but the croak in his voice is lessening; he can speak in sentences. And he's able to open his eyes and make coherent observations.

"I'm feeling better, for once," he says, "But let's not push it." He frowns. "Has Ingo been up here?"

"No, Dad. Just in case this is contagious, I've been the only one in here. Link wanted to see how you were, but I told him no."

His weak grin grows stronger. "I remember you telling me he was here. Is he a good worker?"

I nod. "Definitely. Even after you get better, he's not going anywhere."

A weak chuckle. "You missed him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but that has nothing to do with his ability to do work around here."

I forget about Ingo as I internally celebrate my Dad's recovery, or at least the beginning of it. Soon, he's done with his soup (for once, he's had all of it), and I finish cleaning the bowl and begin making lunch.

When Link returns, he seems nervous. We're unloading the empty bottles and carts from the wagon, and he won't look me in the eye. When I ask if he got my note, he just laughs quietly and says, "Yes, thanks." He had a great time at market, though, and I think he wants to go again. I don't know how to tell him that I _need _to go. I can't be left alone with Ingo.

He sort of brings it up. "Yeah, it was kind of annoying to have a bunch of old ladies shouting at me to get my 'gorgeous buns –'" and he did air-quotes, "back to the castle. But I, you know, think I could just learn to ignore it, you know…next time."

I shrug, trying to pretend it's no big deal. I'm trying to pretend that I'm not thinking desperately for a way to tell him no without alerting him to the problem. "Yeah, it's not too hard to block out some of the gossipy old crones after a while," I say, a smile on my face that isn't in my heart. "But I do have things to do in market." Not a total lie, but still a fib. I'm sure I could come up with errands that aren't useless, but also aren't necessary.

"Oh, I didn't know that." This is a strange reaction. I thought he might suggest going together. Of course, I don't feel comfortable with having only Ingo on the ranch, all alone. That's why I stopped going to market when Dad got sick. But for Link, I might consider breaking that rule. Besides, we get much more work done these days; a day off wouldn't kill the ranch.

But no, he's not suggesting it, and something in his voice makes it clear to me that he wants to have the alone time (or as much alone time as he can get while selling milk and eggs in a crowded market). I guess he deserves that. But I can't let him go too frequently. I want to be alone with Ingo as little as possible. "How about you go once every month?" I suggest, trying to sound bright and friendly.

I think it works. "All right," he responds, smiling. His voice is cheerier than it was moments ago, and I know my tone of voice was right. "So," he begins, "you must have done some serious work today."

Huh? And that's what I say. "Huh?"

"I mean, you just looked like you worked a lot. Your hair is pretty disheveled and dirty."

Ugh, embarrassing! Link has pointed out that I need a bath. I must be bright red. "Uh, yeah, I was going to take a bath after dinner." This is absolutely true; Link's been gone all day, and he shouldn't have to cook dinner.

But he insists that I take one this instant, and I oblige, thankful to get Ingo's grease out of my hair. And Link cooks well enough that I'm finding myself reluctant to even argue with him about who cooks.

After dinner, Link takes his own bath, and I am bored silly. I've had enough free time to start reading again, but my favorite book lies on my bed, and I am too lazy to pick it up. I've been away from reading for too long, I guess, to really dive back in.

I think I'm really just waiting for Link to be done with his bath. Can you blame me? He's my best friend, and after these six years, I want to spend time with him. And reading is great, but so are hay fights and long chats and teasing and all that. That's what I want to do right now. I don't need a book to escape my miserable reality right now.

I guess he sees the light coming from beneath my door because after dinner, I usually clean up and go to sleep. I have already cleaned up, but today hurt too much to sleep. Lying down even now is making the bruises throb. Looking at my body in the bath was horrible. Am I the shell that covers this mess up? Or am I the interior of this bruised and battered skin? Maybe I'm both, a sandwich. But Link knocks on the door, and I can forget that the other hired help abuses me.

"Hey, you," he says smiling, and I smile back. His hair is damp from the bath, and he looks refreshed. "Busy?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Are you?"

He grins. "No, but if we just stand here, we're going to be really bored."

"Then let's go." I shove him playfully. "I can't exactly leave when you're standing in the doorway. I mean, I'm sure that if I'm desperate, I could leap out of the window, but I know I could take you down."

He snorts indignantly. "You? Take _me _down? You're all talk, my lady."

"I am not a lady," I point out. I'm both joking around and not. The smile on my face as I say this lets him know that I'm not upset at him. The heaviness in my heart tells me that a real lady would not be in my predicament.

Soon, we're outside in the chilly moonlight, and I am absolutely freezing. Of course, I'm also too stubborn to admit this. I refuse to be a damsel in distress; I cannot be weak. But while we're sitting on the bench, chatting about nothing in particular, he notices my shivering. I can tell by the way he looks at my shaking arms with concern written all over his face.

He puts his arm around me and pulls me closer to him to warm me up. "Don't protest and say you're fine," he tells me sternly. "You don't have to admit you're cold, but don't lie about it."

Damn, he has me there. I want to say I'm fine anyway, just to be contrary, but I'm actually quite comfortable. Now I'm warm, instead of cold, and Link's arm is draped over me. It's rather nice. I don't feel _safe_, to be honest. If Ingo sees this, I am officially going to get it from him next time Link is gone for more than ten seconds. But I feel a little adventurous, as if Link's action has opened some sort of door.

We continue to chat about nothing in particular, but I feel relatively detached. I'm finding it a little difficult to concentrate on our conversation. I did get up earlier this morning, and now it's late. By this time, I'm usually falling asleep.

One question shakes me awake. "Hey, why don't you sing anymore? You used to sing all the time."

What? Oh, wait, yes. "Yeah, I know." I don't sing anymore because of Ingo. "I don't sing anymore because I don't enjoy myself as much." I receive a quizzical look. "You know, it was fun when I was younger, but not really anymore." Well, it's sort of true. Ingo gets upset at me, which makes singing taboo; I do enough to upset him already.

"I miss it," he says softly.

"How do you know if I'm any good?" I tease. "It's been six years, after all."

He pauses before responding. "I guess you're right. But I'm willing to put some rupees on you still having a beautiful voice."

"Well, I'm not betting against you," I giggle softly, "so keep your rupees. I'd hate for you to waste your well-earned pay."

"It's my money, and I'll do what I want with it," he says, exaggerating a whine. "Come on, let's see if I'm right."

Um, this isn't good. How do I get out of this one? If things were different, and I _could _sing if I so desired, no matter how little enjoyment it brought me, I'd sing. But it's the opposite. I love to sing, but I can't do it, so I won't. "Well, Dad's sleeping," I point out. "Ingo probably is, too."

Link grunts in response. Some men seem to think that grunting is a language of some sort. If it is a language, I certainly need lessons. Dad grunts, Ingo grunts, and now Link grunts. Fantastic.

"Sorry," I mutter in apology. I turn to him and laugh a little. "I guess I'm a bad friend. I'll make it up to you sometime, okay?"

"Why, thank you," he says to me with a grin. "But you're not a bad friend, you know. Don't fool yourself into thinking that."

We're looking at each other, each of us smiling a little. But his arm is tightening around me, pulling me a little closer. We're getting closer and closer. My hands are on his chest. His arm is around me, and his other hand is on the side of my face. My heart skips a beat, which is, by the way, not romantic. It makes me feel a little dizzy and sick. You know you're close when you can see a fleck of green in someone's eye that you swear you've never seen before. He's my best friend…

It's slow. It's not like all those romance novels that so many girls love to read, with the corny and mushy lines. "His lips crashed down on hers." We just keep getting closer, even though both of us know what's happening and what's going to happen. I don't know how to feel about this. I haven't really thought about this. Has he?

Slowly, our lips touch. The pressure is nice. This isn't my first kiss, of course, and I doubt it's his. He's attractive, nice (perfect), and famous, and I'm just as willing to put rupees on that as he is to put them on my singing voice. Of course, this is as much as I've done with a boy before. And it feels the same, although it's more welcome. He's my best friend…

We pull apart just slightly before we slowly lean in again. This time, it's a little more intense, more passionate. His hand is entangled in my hair, and it feels wonderful. I don't even have any idea where my hands are, although I know from the angle at my shoulders and from Link's lack of surprise that they aren't anywhere inappropriate.

We need to stop before things get out of hand, though, and I can feel somehow that he's restraining himself. But I don't understand…We're best friends…

But he moves his hand from my face so he can pull me even closer (can we get any closer without, you know…_doing it?)_, and his hand slides down my side and into the bruises from Ingo's boot. Ingo's boot. I pull away suddenly as I realize how doomed this is.

I could have done it more slowly; Link's brows furrow in confusion. How am I supposed to explain this to him? Explain _what _to him? I don't even know what's happening right now.

"Link, I…" I have no idea what to say to him. "Link, I'm sorry, but…I can't. I –" He turns away from me, and my heart drops into my shoes. "No, you don't understand!" His arms fall, and I'm freezing. "Link, listen, you don't know –"

But he's up and he's walking to the barn. He didn't even give me a chance to explain anything! I wasn't planning to share everything, but…

But I'm on my feet and running to my room. It's all I can do not to run to the barn and climb the ladder into his room, to _make _him listen to me. To _make _him understand that this has nothing to do with him.

I reach my room and throw myself on my bed, tears flooding my vision. But now it does have to do with him, doesn't it? Wait, what am I thinking? He's my best friend…Best friends don't kiss like that.

Oh my Goddess, we kissed. We were _kissing_. He didn't kiss me, and I didn't kiss him. It was completely mutual, and now that I'm able to think about it instead of experience it, I know what it is.

Yes, we're best friends, but maybe that's part of this. We're comfortable around each other, or at least I'm comfortable around him, so long as an Ingo subject doesn't come up. And we have fun together, and he's a great guy, and pretty cute…

I feel no different, though. When you realize you like someone, it's supposed to feel like some great occurrence, a moment of enlightenment. But this sort of feeling is just the same way I felt about him before, but with _kissing_, and probably other stuff if we get there.

If we get there. I'm already thinking about the future like that, when Link just walked coldly away from me. I can't help it, though. I can't feel comfortable being anything more than friends so long as Ingo is around. I can't risk what would happen if Ingo got angry. Goddesses, I never had to consider this before.

Before, I decided that I couldn't tell Link because I needed a friend too much. And of course, the knowledge of my shame and guilt would result in Ingo's death or Link's, and maybe the horses and cows…or my own. For Link would want to kill Ingo right away; he's easily frustrated and angered, as I've seen tonight. And Ingo would light the barn on fire, or climb to the loft with a knife (I have to shake Link to wake him up), or maybe even kill me.

But now I _have _to tell Link, or I'll lose a friend, and maybe a lover. What are lovers except for best friends who get physical? It felt right, and he still feels like my best friend. Well, he did before he walked away from me tonight. But that's my fault; I pulled away too quickly to come up with another stupid lie.

I'm tired of lying to him! I love him, although I'm not in love with him. This distinction is very clear to me. I love him because he is my dear friend, but who's to say that our relationship will get much deeper than this? But I can't keep abusing his trust like this. I need to take care of this, and I need to do it soon.

My knees are still shaking, but whether it's from the kiss or my tears, it's not clear. The kiss is replaying again and again in my mind. I need to solve this problem.

This just isn't fair, and it's all my fault. If only I hadn't let Dad get sick; I knew he needed to eat more vegetables!

I freeze. Footsteps slowly coming up to my door. I glance out my window, and I can see the light from Link's lantern in the barn. And Link never leaves his lantern unattended.

Ingo…he saw it. And he's just outside my room.

* * *

Thank you all for your reviews. If you have an account here, or if you leave an email address and the best review ever (you know who you are!), I will send you a reply. If you have any comments or concerns, I will address them.

N.B. (note well!) You have all been awesome about not being all, "KILL TEH INGO!" but now I'm experiencing problems with other authors telling me how I should write this, and what my characters "should" be doing. Should I write this the way I want or the way you want? While the story is unfinished on my computer, I know what's going to happen. I'm not going to change it on request. But if you have concerns (as some awesome reviews have expressed), please let me know! If you have a good question, ask me; chances are, I either haven't thought about it, or I can clarify things for you. And if I haven't thought about it, chances are I will think about it and it will end up as part of the story. Grazie, amici!


	12. Chapter Twelve

I leap up and run to the door, not even trying to mask my activity. It is now a race to the latch. I have the advantage of being able to lock the door, and I also know that Ingo is coming. He will need a second or so to realize what's going on.

I win. The door is latched and I sigh with relief before heading back to my bed to calm down. I wonder briefly if Link can hear the thumping from his loft. It's his loft now, I guess; with him around at meals, I have protection, and I don't need to sit in the hay, with my breakfast either burning holes in my fingers or melting all over my dress. I hear Ingo's footsteps moving away from the door.

I change into a nightgown and pull a new pillowcase out of my closet. It'll be hard enough to sleep with Link and Ingo dominating my thoughts, and sticky tears and mucous on the bedclothes will only make it harder. I contemplate reading instead of sleeping, but I shake my head and blow out the lamp. I would rather be up all night, tortured by my thoughts, than continue to lie, this time to myself, by escaping into a world where there is a happily ever after.

Sleep comes more easily than I would have believed. It is not a dark unconscious sleep, but vivid with colors, figures, and sounds that are heard with the heart, not the ears.

I dream that I am going through the few paintings that we have of my family. In reality, these paintings are on the walls in Dad's room, but in my dream, they are on parchment, and I can hold them in my hands and bring them closer to examine the details through the haze of my dreaming vision. Here are Mom and Dad at their wedding, a few years before I entered the picture. They were married at the ranch, and my mother came down the aisle riding her favorite horse, grandfather to Epona, a beautiful palomino named Odin. My father was waiting at the makeshift altar on a palomino mare that he had rented to match Odin; little did they know that the two horses would copy the newlyweds that night. Dad had to purchase the mare afterwards.

The matron of honor and the best man also sat on horses, although these did not match. The matron of honor was my maternal grandmother, the original ranch owner. The best man was none other than Dad's best friend, Ingo.

I've seen this painting countless times, but now I see the anger behind Ingo's happy face. I've grown accustomed to this look, the one he gives Link sometimes.

Another painting, a portrait, appears in my hands next. This one is the painting of my mother alone in her wedding dress. Her smiling face frowns at me, and from the painting she asks, "Why didn't you tell Talon?" I frown at her and shrug, but my mother's portrait shrugs back. In my shock, I see that the portrait has become a mirror, although the face remains unchanged.

And it is I in a wedding dress now, riding Epona (I can tell by the small birthmark under her ear that I am not riding the stallion that my mother so loved). The maid of honor is a beautiful woman whom I've never seen, and my groom is Link. My dream self sees nothing strange about this, but my sleeping self stiffens in alarm. Link and I just kissed tonight, and I'm already dreaming of marriage?

But my dream self stiffens as well, for she has seen the best man. Ingo is once again in his suit, but his face is twisted into an expression that I've never seen before. He's not enraged, nor is he masking his anger. Instead, he is _leering _at me, not bothering to hide any desire or lust on his face. I want to scream out to the multitudes who are here for the nuptials, "He will stop at nothing to have me!" but the words don't come, and Link's face clouds with frustration as he shakes his head and rides away from the altar. Ingo chuckles appreciatively as he comes over to pull me down from Epona, and I haven't the willpower to urge her into a gallop.

I wake up screaming as the vision of Ingo's face fades from my vision. I have never had such a vivid dream before, and it's been a long time since I've had such a nightmare. And I have never dreamed before of my mother.

It's been nine years, nine long years, since she passed away. When I was eight, Mom went for a ride on Epona's mother, Juno, and she never came back. Dad and Ingo told me that my Mom had been invited to work at a very nice ranch, but it was very far away, so she couldn't visit. At night, Dad would sometimes tell me stories about how Mom was the best ranch hand in the ranch, which was owned by a prince, and he made her head of the entire ranch because she was so great.

At the time, I didn't know that Mom and Juno had accidentally awakened a peahat in Hyrule field on their way back from a leisurely ride, something Mom had wanted to take for a while. Juno, as any sane horse would have done, had reared and bolted. Mom had been unprepared for Juno's reaction, and in her shock at seeing the monster rise suddenly from the ground, she had let go of the reins and fallen from the saddle. A merchant traveling from Lake Hylia to Kakariko had stumbled upon the two corpses lying near the sleeping place of the peahat. Juno had broken a leg while bolting, and her screams and whinnies had gained the attention of the angered peahat. When Dad finally told me what had happened, he admitted that he had thrown up upon seeing the body, which hardly resembled a horse.

Mom's neck had been snapped as soon as she hit the ground. The peahat left her untouched. I had been sent to visit relatives in Hyrule Castle Town while her funeral was held in the cemetery at Kakariko. Juno was buried where she lay, since her remains couldn't be transported.

My Dad kept it a secret for four years. I would ask to visit Mom all the time, but when I finally checked on a map for the country that she was supposed to be living in, I couldn't find it. It wasn't anywhere on world map. There wasn't even a city by that name. And Dad, tears streaming down his face, came clean. It was a time when I needed Link very much. Epona was hardly a comfort; I was convinced that I needed to comfort _her_. After all, her mother had died, too.

While it's surprising that I've dreamed of my mother, it's more surprising that I haven't before. I never even dreamed of her when I thought she was still alive and well, training horses to be faster, more beautiful, and more intelligent than ever. And now that I have dreamed about her, it's about her wedding…and Ingo.

I check my clock; I have about another half an hour before I'm actually supposed to be up. I wrap a robe around me and grab the key to my room. For the first time in my life, I have a reason to lock the door to my room, even when I'm not inside it. I unlatch the door and lock it once I'm outside. The hall is chillier than my room, although there are no windows to let in more cold. I open Dad's door slowly; he's a heavy sleeper even when he's well, but I don't want to wake him by accident and have to face questioning.

The paintings are in a small alcove in the room, and I don't visit them very often anymore. When Mom first disappeared, I'd visit every day, and I'd even talk to the paintings. There are four paintings in total: the two from my dream, one of Dad in his wedding suit, and one of the three of us when I was six years old. I started to avoid the paintings after I learned the truth behind the foreign prince's ranch, although I've come to terms with Mom's death now.

To my shock and surprise, the wedding painting from my dream was perfect down to the last detail. The ribbon in my mother's hair, the position of my dad's fingers on the reins, and even the color of the minister's eyes are the same. And if my dream painting is accurate…

Yes, it is accurate. Ingo's face is that very mask that I dreamed about. Why would he be so angry about the wedding? My dad was and still is Ingo's best friend. He should be happy for his friend.

Maybe it was because Dad was marrying into one of the wealthiest and successful families outside of the nobility. My grandmother's ranch was famous then as it is today, and just as successful, if not more so. When my grandmother died a year after I was born, the ranch was passed down to my mother, who was already running the ranch (although not in name) years before she and Dad got married. And Dad has been in charge only because I'm not of age yet. In a year, I'll be able to own the ranch in name.

This is _my _ranch, isn't it? I do make the decisions around here, although to be fair, there aren't too many decisions to be made. The cows have to be milked, the animals have to be fed, and all of the chores have to be done. But Dad doesn't choose new cows or horses; he helps _me _decide. Dad likes to joke that the only thing he ever really did on his own was hire Ingo. His best friend needed a job pretty badly, and Mom would never hire him. She always said that the two of them could handle the ranch without any problems. When she passed away, though, Dad truly needed the help, and Ingo came on board.

But it's _my _ranch, isn't it?

I sigh and look at the other paintings. Dad looks handsome and slim in his suit, beaming with the pride of the bridegroom. And there we are, the happy family. The sun makes it look as if my Mom's and my hair is on fire. I frown and my eyes flick to Mom's portrait.

There she is, smiling in her white dress. I half-expect her to frown with me, as she did last night. And then it hits me.

I look _very_ much like my mother.

I haven't realized the similarities before. We have the same hair, and the same nose. The biggest difference is that she had brown eyes, while my eyes are blue-green. But I hardly resemble Dad, except that I have one dimple when I smile. I haven't really examined this portrait since I was little, before I knew what I looked like at age seventeen, only a few years younger than my mother when she was a blushing bride.

"Why didn't you tell Talon?" echoes through my mind. I never refer to Dad by his first name. The dream bride couldn't have been me; it had to have been my mother. But I've already thought things through; I can't tell Dad. I can't tell Link, and Link could defend himself if Ingo retaliated. Dad is still so sick that he would simply lie there if Ingo tried to do anything.

I guess, now that I think about it, I haven't told anyone because it won't do any good. I have to stop things myself without the help of others. If Ingo thinks that I'm safe because someone, whether that person is Link or Dad, is protecting me, he could simply dispose of them and go after me. I shudder. He has to know that he can't harm me.

"He will stop at nothing to have me!" Ingo seems just as content with beating the snot out of me as he does groping me. I still am afraid that he's going to try to rape me, but I still don't understand why _that_ particular phrase is the one I wanted to cry out so desperately. It's not how I would describe what's been going on.

I glance at Dad's clock and realize that it's time for me to get ready. I carefully step out and close the door as quietly as I can before unlocking my own door. I latch it behind me and proceed to get dressed. I'm about to leave my room again when I hear the barn door open. Ingo should still be asleep now, as should Link. I run to the window.

Link is closing the door behind him as he holds his full pack in the other hand. He's dressed in clothes that look familiar, but I haven't seen him wear at all during his stay. He's dressed in a green hat and tunic that I recognize from when we were children, and he's also wearing a white undershirt and leggings. A sword and shield are strapped to his back.

My heart clenches, which is a terrible, terrible feeling, and I rush out of my room, almost forgetting to lock the door behind me. I burst out of the door moment before Link arrives at the gates. At first, I feel triumphant, since I have yet to unlock the gates today, but then I remember that Link has his own key; he does not need me to let him out.

"Link!" I shout, not caring about waking Ingo or Dad. Link doesn't turn around, and he's getting his key out of a pocket. _"Link!"_ I shout again, but my throat closes up as more tears fill my eyes. I keep running towards him as he strides forward, and finally I catch up and grab his tunic. He turns toward me and I gasp through my tears.

He's angry. "What?" he hisses at me. "Have you decided that you _do_ like me after all? Are you just going to change your mind later?"

"Link, what are you talking about? Where are you going? What –"

He shoves my hands from his tunic. "Don't pretend to be so innocent! I'm sick of you covering things up. You know you can trust me! I'm your best friend!"

What is he talking about? "I _do _trust you!" I shout back.

"Yeah, enough to tell me anything? What, do you think I'm going to market and spreading rumors or something?"

"No!" My face is hot. It warms the cold autumn air in between us. "Link." I pause, unsure of whether or not I should say what I want to say. But I do. "I trust you with my life."

For a moment, his eyes soften, but then he lets out a strangled noise. "Are you trying to manipulate me or something?"

"Link, no!" What is happening? "I mean what I said! Please, listen to me!"

"No!" Goddess, we're like two children fighting. "You listen to me!" And now he's fishing through his pack. He pulls out a book and shoves it into my arms; the corner digs into a bruise on my breast. "You can keep it," he snarls.

For the second time in my life, Link left, and I knew he wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

* * *

Thanks for the reviews. I was going to start this chapter with:

"I hear the knob of the door turn...but nothing more. I didn't realize it, but I had locked the door upon entering the room (A/N: PSYCHE!)."

But I didn't.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

I feel hollow and numb as I milk the cows. I have no energy left to cry anymore, and I suppose my tear ducts have had enough of the emotional upheaval that I've been experiencing.

And how long have I been experiencing emotional instability? My mother's death was difficult, and then when I first realized that boys didn't carry some sort of disease, I went through the same pre-teen drama that seems to plague all children of that age. And then, a year ago, Ingo first started to glare and leer, and I didn't tell Dad. Of course, it never got to _this_ point. It would be so subtle: a derogatory remark, bumping into me "by accident," or a seemingly innocent brush from his hands. I didn't want to recognize it as what it was, but I wasn't so very innocent that I thought it was all part of being older. It's sometimes hard to call something wrong when it's happening to you right there and then.

And now my best friend returns, and the hormones just have to kick in again. But even without the kiss or the interest, I've been a bad friend to him.

Oh, I know why he left. I wasn't trying to play innocent on purpose, but it's true that I was asking him questions that I really did know the answers to. I've been abusing his trust without any regards to his feelings. Sure, I might be protecting him, and if he knew, he might be acting differently. But I know that those actions would involve Ingo's severed head, or flames and the screams of the horses, should Ingo decide to take matters into his greasy hands.

But I do trust Link, without a doubt, and what hurts the most is that he's misinterpreted my reluctance to let my guard down. I trust him with my life, my feelings, my body, anything, even though he's just kicked me while I was down. But it's because he doesn't know that he left me.

I would have done the same in his shoes, I think to myself as I carry the milk into the storeroom. It's been clear that something's wrong, but he's too trusting to try to pry it out of me. Had I been in his place, I would have been frustrated to the point of leaving, too. And the kiss was _just_ the breaking point; it was further evidence to him, I guess, that I didn't trust him enough to let him in. No matter how many hay fights and long conversations we've had, there's been a glass wall between us, through which he can see me, but never touch.

I'm thinking too much about this for my own good. Link is gone, and he's never coming back, or at least not for a while. And now Ingo no longer has to worry about the strong and passionate hero guarding my innocence, or as much innocence as I have left. But there is one thing I have left, and Ingo has already failed once to rip it away from me. And my other protector, Dad, is getting better, but he's still weak; if Ingo is able to kick me and beat me until I lie bleeding on the floor, how much more damage could he inflict on Dad?

I'm just about done with my chores for the day, and all I have left to do is to bottle the milk, which is what I'm busy with at the moment. Dad has already had his second meal of the day (a sure sign that he's getting better), but he's still very tired. When I took a peak into his room an hour ago, he was sound asleep. I haven't eaten all day, but I doubt eating would do anything; I can't distinguish between the hollowness of my spirit and the emptiness of my stomach until I feel a little more alive.

My chores are done, and the sun is only beginning to set on the ranch. The shadows outside are long and rather beautiful; I wonder if my own shadow would be that long. But of course it wouldn't be. I am not a tall tree.

The Goddess-forsaken ladder to the loft mocks me, daring me to climb it again. I climbed it half-way this morning, so I could throw Link's book onto his bed. I don't know what the book is, and I don't want to know; whatever it is, it's probably only going to make me feel even guiltier than I already feel.

But what could it hurt? Curiosity is going to get me sooner or later. I may as well get it over with now. He told me to listen to him, and maybe I should. Besides, he doesn't have to even know if I read it or not. Caving in can remain a secret.

I haven't been in the loft since the night before last; we had a hay fight, which I won, of course. Sometimes I wonder if he's letting me win, but he's won a few times. Only barely. I smile, but I feel cold and numb, as if my body is protecting itself from the pain it should feel at the memory.

The book is not the only thing on the bed on top of the neatly made sheets. A sheet of paper rests near the pillow, and Link has scribbled:

_I can't pretend that I'm okay with this, anymore, Malon. Yeah, we're friends, but that's why I can't sit here and watch you, unable to help with whatever's the matter. What's wrong? You'll never tell me. Well, whatever, I don't even want to know anymore; it's probably something that I could have easily helped you with, but you never let me. I tried to win your trust, and I guess you never thought I was trustworthy._

_I'm going back to the castle. Being a hero means people want my help, unlike you, who doesn't want it. So I guess that's what I'll do. Don't try to contact me. I don't need any more lies, excuses, and alibis._

His signature lies at the bottom of the page. He must have left this for me, not expecting to see me this morning before leaving. The note isn't exactly that easy to read, and it's not just because of his handwriting. I frown and turn the paper over. It's the packing list from yesterday, and my silly and then serious note is scribbled at the bottom. I'm surprised at the carefree writing, when suddenly everything's become so much darker.

I drop the paper to the floor and sigh. It's only confirmed what I already knew, and I feel the same as before. Well, if the note hasn't affected me, the book shouldn't. I open to the first page, and instead of a title and author in some fancy script, Link's untidy scrawl, much larger and more juvenile than the writing on his note, fills the page. A diary!

But it's getting dark now; I hurry to the house and lock myself in my room. I almost don't notice Ingo, sitting at the table, waiting for a meal. I haven't cooked all day, and I'm not going to start now. If he's so incredibly hungry, he can have something out of the icebox.

Now, instead of numbness and emptiness, I'm jittery with excitement and anticipation, as well as anxiety. I know that he may have written unflattering and angry things concerning me, but never have I had the chance to experience someone else's feelings. When someone tells you something to your face, it's altered slightly to fit the situation. But when someone writes in a diary, the writing is pure and raw.

I flip through the pages quickly, and I make the decision to change into a nightgown; the pages are full almost to the end, and the book isn't small by any standards. As I throw my dress to the ground and pull the nightgown over my head, I wonder if Link meant for me to read the whole diary, or simply the end, where he would have written about his time on the ranch. But maybe I should read the whole thing anyway; again, curiosity will get me later if I don't give in to it now.

I sit up in bed, my back against pillows and the headboard, warm and safe under the covers. But I'm suddenly afraid to open the faded blue-green cover, afraid to see what Link has to say, even if it's from years ago. But why am I afraid?

Why, indeed? I take a deep breath and open the cover to the first page again. Link's handwriting greets me, and the first entry is dated about seven years and six months ago.

_This is so girly! The Great Deku Tree said I should keep track of everything that happens to me, since he thinks that I'm important or something. I'm no different from anyone else now that I have a fairy. Her name is Navi, and **she's** the one making me write in this stupid book. Well, maybe I'd do it anyways, since the Great Deku Tree died. I'm sad that he's gone, but I'm mad that Mido says it's my fault. I didn't do anything bad! I killed that horrible spider, just like the Great Deku Tree told me to, and he even rewarded me for it. The emerald is really pretty, but it's girly, too. But this is a journal, not a girly diary. If anyone's reading this, it's a JOURNAL!_

Link seems adamant to defend his masculinity, I suppose. I've heard of the Great Deku Tree, the guardian of the Kokiri, and I knew that Link was from the forest. I giggle a little, though; Link's been writing in the same diary since he was ten. It's rather adorable, and I read on. To my surprise, he mentions me relatively soon after:

_What a weird day! I finally made it to the castle today. I didn't know that there was such a big market, or that's what Navi said it was called. I don't like being around so many people, and I was knocked over a lot! I was really nervous and I kept asking Navi if we could go back home. She kept telling me I had to meet the Princess._

_Most people in the market weren't very nice, but I met a really nice girl at the fountain. Her name is Malon, and she was looking for her dad. They live on a ranch, although I don't know what that is. I guess they have cows there because her dad was delivering milk. She thought my clothes were funny. She also was singing, and I think she has a very pretty voice._

_I finally found the castle, but when I tried to sneak in, I got thrown out! The guards don't seem very nice there. I met Malon again while I was trying to figure out how to get back in. She gave me an egg to help me if I found her dad, and soon the egg hatched, and I had a cucco. I don't think I like cuccos very much because this is the first one I've seen and it tried to bite me a lot. Malon then showed me some vines, and after I climbed them, I snuck past the guards and made it to the castle. I met Malon's dad, who is named Talon, and the cucco woke him up. I was happy that I helped Malon find her dad._

I frown and shake my head. That's not how we met at all! Link showed up at the ranch one day, seven years ago, because he needed a horse, or that's what he said. And then we became best friends. But we never met at market, and I certainly never gave him a cucco and showed him a way to sneak into the castle. I've never even been to the castle; the farthest I've gone is market. And besides, this entry is six months before we actually met.

Link goes on, though, to talk about meeting the Princess and then the Gorons. I'm appalled at the nonchalant way he talks about walking into a lava-filled cave and killing horrific creatures. It's quite the event when any fiend or monster finds its way to the ranch, and the numbers that Link faces in certain rooms of this cave are sometimes greater than the total number of monsters we've ever seen here (I've had to help get rid of five). And he was only ten…

And here, he writes that he visited the ranch. My interest level rises, as does my guilt level; I care more about what he has to say about me than I care about his adventures.

_I got to visit the ranch for the first time. Talon made me play some weird game where I had to find his "super" cuccos. I found them easily, and I won a bottle of milk. I tried not to act too excited about it, but I hardly ever have anything to eat or drink besides water. Most of my rupees do go towards food, but I also have to pay for repairs to my weapons, and sometimes I can't find a place to eat for a few days at a time. I don't have enough room to carry a lot of food, and it goes bad so easily._

_I got to see Malon again. She was in a fenced in place called a corral. There were a lot of big horses there, and some little ones. She was singing again and playing with a small horse. The horse was named Epona, and Epona didn't like me, so Malon taught me a song to make Epona like me. It worked!_

_I also met Ingo, who works at the ranch. He seems angry because Talon is so lazy. Well, Talon is lazy, but Ingo gets money for working, right? I don't get money for working, although if people knew how much money there was in all these caves, they might start going in to take it, but then they might get killed. I'm lucky because I know how to kill all the monsters. But even though I get money, I don't think I'm really getting paid. I'd like to have a real job like Ingo._

_I was sad to leave the ranch, but Malon made me promise to visit. I hope I can visit soon._

But I never taught my mother's song to Link. I don't remember that ever happening. I do remember Dad making Link play his stupid cucco game, but I don't remember teaching Link the song. How strange that he should remember this and I don't.

Link goes on to describe Zora's Domain, which sounds absolutely beautiful. He tells about the Zora Princess being eaten by the Zora's fish deity, Jabu-Jabu, and Link himself went into the belly of the whale to rescue her. I wince at whenever Link mentions getting electrocuted, and I smirk when he mentions, "I don't think Malon would have been as annoying as Ruto. Even Navi was getting annoyed." I also giggle when he writes, "Ruto says that the sapphire is an engagement ring, and she seems pretty happy that she's giving it to me. I don't know what she's talking about." Link got engaged to a fish when he was ten!

Link says he came to visit the ranch again, and he says he showed me the Spiritual Stones that he collected.

_Malon thought the stones were really pretty. I knew they were girly! I wish I could have given her one, probably the sapphire because she has blue eyes. But her eyes are kind of green, too, so I could give her both the sapphire and the emerald. But her hair is red, so I could give her the ruby, too. But then I wouldn't have any stones left._

I've never seen those stones in my life; I'd have remembered that, too. For Goddess' sake, who _wouldn't _remember a sapphire the size of her hand? But I sigh and read the next entry, where he talks about his encounter with Ganondorf, the guy whom he's trying to stop. I've never heard of this man, but he seems famous from the way Link writes about him. Link ends his entry by saying he's sleeping in the Temple of Time, and he's going to use his new song and the three stones the next day.

But the next day has a strange date. Where it should show the number seventeen, assuming he wrote it the next day, there is only a question mark, and there's a question mark for the month as well. The only information that he gives is the year, which is _this _year.

I can't believe what I'm reading. He was locked away for seven years? And Ganondorf took over? But this…this never happened. I don't understand at all, but I'm sucked in. Link's story went from mildly interesting for personal reasons to incredibly fascinating. And I want to reach into the pages and hold Link close as he describes his first night in his new body.

_Why is this happening to me? I'm ten, and I know I'm ten, but I look at my reflection, and I'm seventeen. In a year, I'll legally be an adult. But I'm a Kokiri, and I'm not supposed to grow up! Ever!_

_I'm spending the night in the Temple of Time, and even if I was locked away for seven years, to me this is the same thing I did last night. I don't know if anyone I know is safe or alive. I don't know if anyone remembers me. Navi isn't too happy with things either. She who usually cannot shut up is silent, and I feel bad. This isn't just my journey; it's hers as well. But I'm so scared. After Sheik left, I cried. I'm alone, and I have no idea what's going on. Someone is going to laugh at me when I ask what day and month it is._

My poor hero, reduced to tears. But he was really only ten years old. How much better would I have handled it? And then my heart almost fails when Link writes about the ranch again.

_I'm at the ranch now, staying the night. I haven't been here in seven years, and only a few things have changed. I'm glad I could help set things right, though._

_Ingo had been given the ranch by Ganondorf, and Talon had been driven out. He wasn't even allowed back to see Malon. And Malon herself has been locked up at the ranch for these long years, forced to slave away to keep the ranch running. Ingo himself didn't do anything at all while she worked. And neither of them recognized me. That's great because I didn't want Ingo to recognize me, but Malon…she's my **friend**, and she didn't recognize me._

_I actually managed to win Epona by racing Ingo and beating his sorry ass twice. Haha, it was actually pretty fun. Epona recognized me as soon as I played her song. Since Ingo was too distracted to yell at her for not working, Malon came out to watch, and the look on her face as I played Epona's song was priceless. It lasted for a while, actually. After I had jumped the fence and brought Epona back inside, Malon was still shocked. But then she started crying, and I felt terrible. "I can't believe you!" she shouted. "You never wrote, you never visted, nothing! What sort of friend are you? Seven years!" I rushed to her and held her, and she calmed down enough to tell me that she had missed me terribly. Ingo had suddenly reverted back to his old self (although even nicer than before), and I sat with Malon in the loft and told her everything._

_Malon in turn told me everything that had happened with her, which wasn't much more than I knew. Apparently, if she complained, protested, or attempted to get help, Ingo would threaten to hurt the animals, especially Epona. In fact, he had threatened to kill Epona several times when it seemed as if Malon was really going to take a stand. I asked if he had done anything to her, and she said no, since he needed her to be in good health to do all the work._

I recognize my reaction, but not any other part of the situation. But I'm not that much of an idiot; clearly, something happened that I don't know about. And I'm not even to the halfway point in the diary. This seems to be something that Link knew that he never told me, just as I never told him about Ingo. But I'm planning on it as soon as I resolve things. But…but nothing. I read on about Link's adventures in the various temples. And he always comes back to visit me. He describes bringing Dad back to the ranch, and spending time with me. And he describes more:

_Is it weird to like your best friend? I mean, I still think of Malon as my best friend. I love talking with her and hanging out with her. But sometime soon, I'm not going to be able to resist the urge to kiss her. Maybe being best friends is a good thing. If we start being boyfriend and girlfriend, and we break up, we'll have a friendship to fall back on…right? And there's really nothing about each other that we don't know.  
...  
__Oh my Goddess. I've never been this happy and jittery in my life, not even after beating some horrible monster. Malon and I kissed tonight, and it was wonderful. Of course, before she went back into the house, she teased me about it, but whatever. We kissed.  
...  
__I'm back at the ranch again. I told Malon about Nabooru, and I thought I made her a little jealous at first. Just because Nabooru thought I was cute doesn't mean that I don't like Malon anymore! I was trying to explain myself, and I felt really horrible, but then Malon just started laughing at me. She was feigning jealousy the entire time, and for some reason, I fell for it. This whole incident ended with some rolling around in the hay._

And one entry shocks me; it's as if an electrical current has run through my body, and I have to reread the entry three or four times to ensure that my eyes aren't playing tricks on me:

_I'm afraid to look Talon in the eye, but if I act weird, he might be suspicious. Malon is acting completely normal around him, and I don't know how she does it. Talon might not mind that Malon and I tend to fool around in the loft a bit, but if he knows that I snuck into her room last night…Okay, I didn't sneak in, since we planned it. In an hour or so, I'm heading to the castle to end Ganondorf's reign, and I don't know if I'll be coming back. Both of us agreed that if we didn't do this now, we might not have another chance. So after Talon went to bed, Malon let me into the house, and we went to her bedroom._

_It was incredible, and I'm so glad we did it. While at the ranch, I've taken some time to relax a bit, and I've read some of Talon's romance novels (well, I thought if another guy liked them, then I might, too, and they are steamy to say the least), but it was nothing like the books seemed to consider it. I guess there's really nothing like sex with your best friend. But we both know that in an hour, I'll be gone, perhaps forever. I don't want to leave her._

We had sex. Oh my Goddess, we had sex. Good sex, I think…even though the point is that we _did it_, not that it was good. I've already accepted that none of this happened, but that thought occurs to me again as I read this: I certainly would remember having sex with Link.

I force myself to read on, and even though this particular entry continues to run through my mind, I get caught up in the quest to get to Ganondorf. And then the date changes again, back to the same date that Link was last a child. He's done some time traveling already, but he's always had a reason to do it. It's strange to see him travel back so suddenly and unexpectedly. But his diary entry seems to explain not only his sudden return to childhood, but also why I don't remember any of this happening.

_So now I'm ten years old again, and I'm back in time permanently. Zelda told me not to think of myself as trapped in the past, but returned to the present; I'm supposed to think of the time I spent with Malon…I mean, as a seventeen-year-old as the future, not the present. But I can't help it._

_I'm going to the ranch tomorrow. I might be ten, so the whole hormone thing is fading, but I still consider her my best friend. I'm just going to be sad that she won't remember me. Zelda told me that she and I would be the only people to remember this horrible future (horrible because of Ganondorf, not because of Malon), and everything that Ganondorf did would be undone and reset. I guess I'm spending the night in the Temple of Time…again. I miss Navi, who's gone now.  
...  
__So I went to the ranch today, and I was so happy to see Malon. She seems to like me a lot even though she doesn't really know me anymore. She calls me Fairy Boy even though I don't have a fairy; she says it's because my clothes are fairy people's clothes, so I'm a fairy boy. Yes, fairy person equals Kokiri. She wants to know how I know Epona's song, but I'll never tell her, at least not until she's old enough to understand. How is one ten-year-old supposed to explain to another ten-year-old, "In the future, which is now not going to necessarily happen, we had SEX?"_

He's got an excellent point. I hadn't even heard "the talk" at that point. And Link describes the year in which we became absolute best friends, and then the six years where he went on adventures. He mentions me all the time, and then he makes an excellent point:

_I returned Epona at 3 am this morning. It's Malon's thirteenth birthday today, and I wish I could have spent it with her. Instead, I'm on a boat, heading for some strange land. I've considered leaving her a note with Epona, but what if Talon or Ingo finds it? But she doesn't leave me notes either. If it weren't for the fact that I keep taking and returning Epona, I'd say she's forgotten me._

I never did leave him a note either. We both were bad friends during those years, I suppose. And he goes on to explain how he learned "normal" things on his quests, such as how to cook and take care of animals. It was during these lessons that he learned that Epona's song got animals to like him (except for cuccos, which still hate his guts, apparently). He talks about escaping the cycle and living a normal life…with me. He hopes I don't have a boyfriend, and he hopes I still want to be friends with him. Tears blur my eyes as I read these entries.

_I'm at the ranch now, but I'm not here to borrow Epona. I'm here to work now; it's my first real job ever, and I can finally start a normal life. But the best part is that I can see Malon every day. Her reaction when I showed up was exactly the same as it was in the alternate timeline, too. My feelings for her are back: she's my best friend, and I want to be her lover, too. She seems to still consider me her best friend, which is the greatest feeling ever.  
...  
__Something's wrong and different now. Ingo, who used to really like me six years ago, avoids me. Malon, too, seems distant. Oh, we play around, have hay fights and long talks, and we're best friends, but she seems incredibly reluctant to get close to me. If Talon weren't sick, I'd talk to him to see if he knows what's wrong.  
...  
__I'm at market now, and I want to kill every old lady who says I should marry Zelda. Zelda and I are just friends! Yeesh! But I was happy to be in market again, since I can talk to some of my old friends. They're all asking about me and my love life. I'm glad Malon isn't here, so I can be honest with my friends. They would probably tease me if she were here with me, although I'd put up with it for her sake. But I can also write in my journal without worrying about losing sleep. So, anyway, I was thinking about getting some new books…_

And that was why he wanted to go alone. He wanted to be able to talk to his friends about me, and he wanted to be able to write in his diary. I frown a bit; if I had known this, would I have still said he could go once a month? But it doesn't matter because I didn't know this, and he's not going to market next month. And then I find the final entry.

_I don't care if it means Ganondorf would be back: I wish I were in the alternate future. In that future, Malon and I kissed and became lovers. In this one? She REJECTED me. Flat out! The kiss felt the same as our other first kiss, which made me ecstatic. But then she pulled away and said she "couldn't."_

_I miss my old Malon, the one who felt the same way about me as I did about her. My old Malon, who was happy and cheerful, and who didn't hide things from me. This version of my lover doesn't trust me at all, and I can't handle it. I'm leaving, and I'm going back to the castle. I don't know how long I'll stay there, though, since I hate being there. _

_Why doesn't she like me! I keep thinking of the other Malon. Maybe I should stop projecting my feelings for the old one onto the new one. Maybe they aren't the same person. I don't know anymore, but this isn't what I want. I just wanted to be normal, to have the girl I want to be with, to have a real job…a real life. Am I not supposed to have what I want?_

I reach the end, and it's incredibly late at night.

He's both wrong and right. Well, that's not how to think about it, in terms of wrong and right. But the very thing that he's longing for is the reason that he sees me as someone other than "his" Malon. I _am _his Malon, but Ingo's abuse is not so obvious. He doesn't see the problem because he thinks it's fixed, or that it's never happened. According to his diary, Ingo forced me to slave away because otherwise, he'd mistreat the animals. Now, Link shows up and sees Dad and me still in charge, as well as healthy animals, and I haven't mentioned to him that anything's wrong. He thinks the situation is different, but it's not really that different. Ingo is still abusive, but instead of abusing power or animals, he abuses me.

I have to set Link straight here. Why can't he have what he wants? Well, no one can have everything he wants. Unlike Link, I can't fix things, go back in time, and have them never happen. No matter what, I'll have to live with what Ingo's done to me.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that Link still doesn't know everything. We were so happy together in the alternate timeline, where he right away explained to me what had happened to him. I need to explain everything to him…but only after I take care of my real problem.

I blow my lamp out, prepared to spend the rest of the night thinking of ways to confront Ingo. Instead, my eyelids shut, and unconsciousness swirls around me, pulling me into dreamless depths.

* * *

Yes, very long chapter, but I couldn't make it much shorter. I tried not to do a huge recap of Ocarina of Time, because most of you should already know what happened. Anything that sounds like a recap is important, so there. I hope this has given everyone the peek into the mind of our favorite hero to see why he's so frustrated. I also wonder if I should change the rating of this story, what with the mentions of THE DEED and all. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Ingo is avoiding me, and I know I should value this more than I do. How am I supposed to confront him if he doesn't come near me? Link's been gone for a week, and I have yet to resolve the issue that's keeping me from mounting Epona and rushing off to the tallest tower of the castle to rescue my hero. He probably doesn't live in the tallest tower, but it's interesting to think so dramatically. I feel as if I'm on a quest as it is.

I don't even know how I'm supposed to solve this problem even if Ingo gives me a chance to. Should I bring this up while he's leaving me alone? How would that work itself out? Am I supposed to invite him to tea so we can have a little chat about that time he beat the crap out of me? In that case, maybe I'd have to bring up the other time that happened. Oh, and the other time, too. I giggle in spite of myself and my situation. No, I'll have to defeat him when he's in the act.

It's deep autumn now, which is my favorite and least favorite time of the year. I prefer the weather during the spring months, mostly because of my birthday, but also because of the warmth and new life. The flowers as they unfurl make me feel as if I myself am blooming. I become a year older in fields of brilliant color. Autumn in Hyrule is rather cold and brooding; the wind rustles dead leaves and the fallen petals. The frost is a silent killer, and I say goodbye to the vegetables to which I said, "Oh, I'll pick you tomorrow when you're just a little riper."

But the autumn colors are a different and unfamiliar sort of beautiful. I feel haunted by the browns and reds, by the yellow of the grass and the shades of the streaked sunsets. The silence is interrupted by gusts of wind that seem to carry messages in languages that I don't understand. Link prefers this season, and until I grew older, I didn't see the same autumn he saw. I always saw it as the prelude to the silent death of winter. Link only sees the freshness and newness that comes with the first blanket of snow.

I dig up the garden, which is harder than a rock. We don't get permafrost in Hyrule, but I believe that Lon Lon Ranch in the late fall has something considerably close to it. It takes several jabs with the spade to break a sizable chunk of dirt from what used to be a row of cabbage. It's important to keep the dead remains of the garden in the soil; the more nutrients in the soil, the better. I'd rather not have to let the garden lie fallow for a year if I can help it. I already make sure to rotate the crops, even to the point of recording each year's position in a book in my room.

Another book sits in my room, one that I've held several times this week. I can't seem to leave Link's dia—journal alone. I don't just read his entries about me, although I admit that his detailed description of our last night together is better than Dad's seedy romance novels…which I've never read…

His journeys fascinate me. It's incredible to learn that what's so strange to you is so normal to someone else. Just as Link seems so taken with living the life of a farm hand, I am suddenly intrigued by adventure and weapons and quests. To be so important and pivotal must be incredible. But I know that Link would rather live quietly on a ranch.

I also would rather live peacefully on a ranch, but it would be exciting to leave once in a while, and not just to sell milk. I want some sign that I'm important to more people than just my Dad, or even Link. Dad used to tell me that my work was more influential than I thought; I've been milking cows since age five, and that milk has helped some of Hyrule's finest soldiers grow strong and fit. But what if my actions were more directly important? Link is able to do his usual job, killing monsters and solving puzzles, and what are the results? Refilling Lake Hylia, or bringing spring itself to a mountain. When I do my usual job, which anyone could do, ordinary people buy our products and go about their lives. I feel inconsequential.

Maybe it's the abuse talking, but maybe not. The desire to be something more than just a farm girl has been mine all along. The downtrodden feeling, though, stems from the specific attention I've been given for the past year, and more specifically this past month and a half.

I look up from my work and my swirling thoughts to see Ingo walking out of his room and into the main house. Breakfast was only an hour ago. I sigh at the thought of the pancakes that I ate while sitting on Link's bed. I still think of it as his bed, even though I know he's not coming back. His realbed is in the castle, where he is, unless he's already on another whirlwind adventure. I'm sure he's saving some village this very moment.

Why is Ingo going into the house? He won't be going into my room; the key is right here, on my belt. I finger it gingerly; I'm in trouble if he manages to get his hands on this. There's nothing left in the house except for Dad, who is still slowly recovering. His voice is back, and he's made it all the way up to the standard three meals a day, even if all of those meals are soup.

I follow Ingo at a safe distance, partially out of concern that he might harm Dad, but mostly because of my own curiosity. He and Dad _are _friends, after all, and Ingo hasn't been to see Dad since he got sick almost two months ago. I push my guilt away; so what if I eavesdrop? Ingo isn't exactly the most ethical person around, and even if I listen in, I can still be considered a saint in comparison to Ingo and his greasy hands. Does he ever wash his hands? Or does he carry the dirt and grime that he's come in contact with during his entire history? I shudder at the thought.

I remain absolutely silent as I shadow my own predator, and I watch him as he enters Dad's room. As quietly as I can, I climb up until I'm right next to the door. Slowly, I lean towards the doorframe, and the conversation is now mine to overhear.

"It's great to see you, Ingo!" Dad's cheer is genuine, as I suspected it would be.

"How're ya feeling, Talon?" His gruffness could be interpreted as awkwardness because of nature, or maybe because of future malice. But I shouldn't judge until I have to.

"Much better, old friend. I should be up and about by the end of the week." Yeah right, Dad. It _is _the end of the week. You'll be up and about in maybe another week or two. But not tomorrow.

"Good to hear. The ranch has been missing you. Your daughter is definitely a slacker when your watchful eye is asleep." That is such a lie.

"Well, I doubt it, Ingo, but I wouldn't be surprised if she's been distracted by the new ranch hand." I wasn't _that _distracted, and Link and I managed to get plenty of work done!

"She has no reason to be distracted anymore. Link up and left last week."

"You're kidding! Did he say why?"

I hear a chuckle, and I frown. What will Ingo say? Maybe I don't want to know. "Well, poor Malon must be in love with the kid or something. I saw her throw herself at him last week, and he didn't seem too comfortable with it. I think he's gone back to the castle to his girlfriend." My embarrassment and anger is almost leaking out of my pores. I want to scream that I can prove otherwise, that Link and Zelda are just friends, that Link and I are all that and more. But I don't speak. I've become talented at not speaking.

"You don't say! That doesn't sound much like Malon, but it's too bad that Link's gone. Last I saw him, he was a diligent worker. And he always takes such great care of Epona." He pauses. "Well, enough of that for now. I'd like to talk to Malon about that myself. How have you been?"

"Oh, I've been all right. Missing the old days a bit."

Dad laughs. "Ah, the good old days when we were two Kakariko boys, looking to cause mischief." Both of them laugh. "Still remember the time we swore to be friends forever?"

"Behind the Royal Family's tombstone? And you kept saying that what we were doing was girly? Of course!" Ingo no longer seems so evil, but I poke myself in the rib to remind myself of the bruise there.

"Ah, what was that pact again? We swore to be friends forever, never to keep secrets, and…What else again?"

"To always share whatever wealth or happiness we found in the future."

The tone in Ingo's voice is subdued, and when Dad speaks, the joviality in his voice is gone. "Ingo, I tried to share as best I could. She could only marry one of us."

"You could have hired me."

"I tried! What was I supposed to tell Marin? It was her ranch, not mine. Goddesses, it's still not mine, really. As soon as Malon turns eighteen, it's hers officially. I'm only the owner because she's too young." He sighs. "Please understand that I couldn't have made you co-owner. Marin made me promise to only stay in charge until Malon was older."

Ingo snorts. "You knew I liked her, though. You started to woo her _while _we were dating!"

"Ingo, calm down. It was mutual wooing, to be fair, and it was _after _she broke up with you. And when you started court her, you knew I liked her, too!"

"What did you promise her to make her go running to you?"

"Ingo, please! I don't know what made her choose me instead of you. Marin made her own decisions, and you know that. That's what made both of us like her."

"The fact that she was the most beautiful woman in all of Hyrule didn't hurt, did it? You got wealth and beauty, all wrapped up in one package."

"Come on, man, it's in the past."

"Humph." I can hear Ingo's footsteps now, and I rush down the stairs. As I'm about to run out the door, I spy dirty dishes lying forgotten in the sink. When Ingo comes through the kitchen to go outside, he sees me washing the dishes, as if nothing could be more ordinary. It's certainly more ordinary than the door slamming behind me. There is no reason to believe that I heard any of the conversation.

Once he's outside, I sigh, and the air that I exhale is rattled. I'm not just shaky from the experience of almost being caught listening at the door, but also because of what I've overhead. I never knew that Ingo had once been Mom's boyfriend, and I certainly didn't know that he and Dad had a childish pact to always share wealth and happiness.

It's making more sense to me now, I suppose. One woman, and two best friends. Dad won her love and her fortune. But in Ingo's eyes, _he _should have been the groom and the recipient of the wealth. It should be _his _daughter working so diligently, and it should be _Dad _working as a ranch hand.

My dream seems more and more like a message, and it seems less and less like a garbled vision of the family portraits after an emotional day. My mother had asked me why I never told Talon. If only I knew what she had been talking about.

Dad is awake, though, so I resolve to bring him his breakfast. It's incredibly awkward to sit next to him after hearing his fight with Ingo. I have a million questions to ask him, and I suspect he's waiting to ask me about the hero that walked out of my life last week.

He goes first. "Malon, where's Link?" I love him for giving me the benefit of the doubt instead of recapping what Ingo said.

I sigh. "He's probably at the castle. I have no idea."

"Any reason why he left? Ingo says he thinks you two fought." Dad is kind for changing Ingo's story just enough to keep me from feeling too angry and embarrassed to talk.

"It's complicated, Dad. It's too hard to explain right now." I pause. "Don't worry, Dad. I didn't throw myself at him or anything weird like that. Nor was it the opposite." I hope that Dad doesn't still believe Ingo's story, but I can't add any more details without lying.

He continues to sip soup in silence before I muster up my courage. "Dad, why is Ingo so angry?" I sound as if I'm five years old, but it's a valid question. Ingo's been angry for years, and I've never asked. In fact, his anger is only a concern of mine now that it results in blotches, aches, and pains all over my body.

Dad sighs. "It's a long story, Malon, but you're entitled to know it. A year or so before your mom and I got married, she and Ingo were a couple. Ingo and I have been best friends forever, and since we both liked Miss Marin, we agreed to both date her. We both knew that whoever dated her second might not get a chance at all, in case she liked the other one, or if she met someone else.

"So Ingo started to take her out to dinner sometimes, and they became boyfriend and girlfriend, but Miss Marin broke it off after a couple months. Ingo seemed furious at her, but I was a little happy because it was my turn. And I fell in love with her very quickly after we started to see each other. Ingo was unhappy with it, but I reminded him that the choice was Miss Marin's, and he had gotten his turn. It was my turn.

"So, Miss Marin and I got married, but when I asked if I could hire Ingo, since I wanted to share my new life as much as I could, Marin insisted that Ingo stay away from the ranch. I was actually a little unhappy in our first year being married because I loved your mother dearly, but I felt guilty for not getting my best friend a better job. Ingo never forgave me for it, even though I hired him shortly after your mother's death."

Dad is silent, his story told. I reach down and move his tray to the ground. His soup is finished for now; it's grown cold during these minutes. I reach down and take his hand, which isn't clammy as it was while he was ill. "Don't worry, Dad," I say gently. "Being friends isn't just about keeping childhood promises." I sigh. "It's also about respecting wishes, desires, and happiness. Don't blame yourself just because Ingo does."

I'm talking to myself more than I'm talking to him. Could it be that Ingo blames me for so many miseries? I look like Mom, and I'm the result of Dad and Mom being married. Hell, my name is a combination of "Marin" and "Talon." But I don't want to think about it anymore. I've got too much work to finish today. Now, however, I'm beginning to feel more prepared to face my fear, whenever that confrontation might actually happen.

* * *

Marin has no connection with the character from Link's Awakening with the exception of her name. I liked the idea of the combination, and it serves as another reminder to Ingo that Malon is the product of the union between Marin and Talon. Sorry if this story is more than just plot and action; I've taken far too many English classes to keep literary devices from commandeering my writing.

The next chapter is already in the works, and quite by accident. I had the idea of this chapter, but I forgot about it when I pulled out Microsoft Word earlier this evening. I had written a page and a half of the next chapter when I remembered my original intentions. Of course, I've been putting off studying for much too long, so I hope this chapter is satisfactory until after the biology final rapes me. That, by the way, was me using a phrase that is popular in the western suburbs of Boston, Massachusetts. Or at least that's where I think it's popular.

P.P.P.S. Everyone, go listen to the song "Blind" by Lifehouse before I flip out and go more insane than I already am. This isn't just, "Go listen because I like it, and my musical taste is better than yours." The lyrics are very close to how Malon feels. And you should listen because I like it, and my musical taste is better than yours.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

I return to consciousness very slowly, and at first, I have no idea just where I am. It's not unusual for me to be confused in the morning, since sometimes I believe the happenings of my dreams to be reality for a few minutes, but something feels wrong about my location. Malon, you're in your room, I inform myself. Yesterday, you talked to Dad about Ingo. Today, you're going to wake up and do all the chores you usually do. I shiver, and that very movement feels strange. I can feel the weight of my blankets and bedclothes, and I also forgot to take off my robe before I fell asleep. Why I am shivering?

I open my eyes and blink out the sleep. My eyes first dart to the clock, which informs me that it's three in the morning, an hour during which I'm usually sound asleep. A sigh escapes my lips; if I had been awake at this hour on my thirteenth birthday, I would have been able to peek out the window and catch a glimpse of my best friend.

With that thought in mind, I turn to face that very window, and to my surprise, it's ajar. I don't remember it being open recently; it's late autumn, after all. The frigid, twilight air is what has woken me from sleep. Did I open my window at all today? I doubt it; I hadn't been in my room all day until I came up to sleep. And I would have noticed earlier. The cold had been enough to wake me up even though I was almost smothered in covers.

I reluctantly slid out of bed, knowing that the longer I wait, the colder I'll be in the long run. The soles of my feet go numb seconds after they hit the icy floor, and I wrap my robe tightly around my body, wincing as I apply pressure to my bruises. I force myself to keep moving. Every step closer to the window is a step closer to getting back in bed and being warm. I'm glad that I remembered to push my blankets back in place, which I sometimes forget to do. Covering the mattress back up tends to conserve heat relatively well, and to say that I greatly desire to be warm when I return to bed would be a serious understatement.

The chill in the room is unearthly. I've left my window open before, and in the winter as well, but I've never felt so utterly cold before, either physically or in spirit. I half expect a ghost, moaning in sorrow, to pass through my solid body. I'm surprised that there's no frost on the floor, but the lack of snow makes perfect sense to me. Snow is soft and new. It does not represent the feeling that is seeping into my very bones as I near the window.

My heart thumps back to life as I reach the window, for the first thing I see is the small window of the loft. I'm relieved to know that while I might feel as if I'm in the icy land of death, I myself still live, and my heart still continues to beat reliably at the sight of something so meaningful to me. I feel fresh tears falling down my face at the thought of the emptiness of the loft, and the saline freezes on my skin, reminding me of my purpose here at the window. I am not here to dwell on the past. I have to go to sleep so I can wake up and be ready for the future I want.

I want a future with Link and free of Ingo, I remember, as I reach out to grab the frozen window latch. And then I look down, for no real reason, and see the ladder.

There is a ladder below my window. It's lying on the ground, as if it had been propped up below the window and then pushed off at an angle. The temperature of the room has already brought me out of any sleepy haze, and I know I didn't leave the ladder lying there. What could Ingo have been using the ladder for?

It clicks right there. I'm no simpleton, but I _have _just woken up, and I'm not exactly refreshed. Ingo has used this ladder to climb into my room. I leave the window open as I scan my room for where our ranch hand might be hiding. My breath is slightly ragged with stinging fear, and I can see the puffs from my exhalation filling the space in front of my mouth. Where is he?

I don't have to stay in the room, alone, I finally realize. I can go into Dad's room. If he wakes up, I can tell him that I'm sad about Link, or that I had a nightmare, even though I haven't come running to his room after a nightmare since I was fourteen. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I can't worry about Dad's reaction or his questions because right now, I'm just worried about where Ingo is.

But the door handle won't budge. I jiggle it a bit, but when I try to turn the handle, I can feel resistance. My door, however, is unlatched.

Ingo is outside the door, keeping me from getting out. He must have known that I'd wake up with the open window. Either he was waiting for me to go back to sleep after maybe searching my room, or he was expecting me to try to get to Dad's room. Either way, the situation remains the same. I latch the door quickly, which solves the problem. He must not have thought this through _that _well. Why did he pick tonight? Was it because Dad boasted that he'd be better by tomorrow?

I shake my head to myself and walk back over to the window so I can lock that as well. Let's see Ingo try to come back into the room with both doors locked. I crawl beneath my now cool blankets, but sleep isn't coming easily. The new atmosphere of my room is frightening, and I feel as if I've had one too many cups of Goron coffee. My eyes are only shut because I am ordering them to remain closed. Soon, I am drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness.

I almost don't hear the latch moving into the unlocked position, as well as the slight creak of the door as it opens. I think that I'm dreaming it. But my half-dream is shattered violently; one of my pillows is pulled out from beneath my head, and before I can open my eyes and mouth to register shock, it's shoved onto my face, cutting off my air supply.

I don't think twice about my actions as I begin to flail about wildly. My first and foremost concern, and just about the only one in my mind, is to get the pillow off of me. I curl my hands into fists and throw them about in the direction in which I think my attacker lies. I bend and unbend my knees frantically as I kick my legs back and forth. It is all to no avail.

Right before I think I'm sure to black out, since I already feel faint, one of my knees connects; it slams into something soft. I hear a faraway grunt, and the pillow falls to the floor. My first breath of air is painful but soothing at the same time, and my next breaths are ragged. But there is no time to consider the air in my lungs as I try to sit up; immediately, Ingo, my obvious attacker, rushes at me, grabs me, and throws me to the floor. My entire body in contact with the wooden panels begins to throb as it absorbs the cold. And then Ingo's boots are there, kicking me from all sides.

He's making an effort, once again, to keep the damage hidden, and my torso screams out in pain. And now I feel him turning me over; I can feel my own blood beneath me as it sticks to my clothes. I open my eyes, although it takes great effort; I've shut my eyes so tightly that the eyelids have swollen a bit.

Ingo stands over me, his hands at his belt. I see the key to my bedroom on it, and I curse myself for my stupidity. He must have taken it before leaving my room to wait outside the door. He smirks at me; he intends to take my virginity tonight.

But why?

I understand that he hates me because of what I represent: the marriage and love of Marin and Talon. But why the sexual aggression as well? I still don't understand that.

In my dream, he had been staring at me with lust filling his face, but no rage. But why wasn't he angry in my dream? In my dream, I was getting married. I was getting married after looking in a mirror that was my mother's portrait. It was both because I look like her.

As he fumbles to undo his belt buckle, I want to smack myself for not seeing it before. He wanted to marry my mother, and I look like her. My mother never felt comfortable even having Ingo at the ranch. He must have given her reason to be so distrustful. And I look exactly like her.

My mother had escaped the fate that was about to happen to me. She wasn't asking me why I hadn't told Dad about the abuse. She was asking herself why she had never told her husband the real reason she had never felt comfortable around Ingo.

"If you didn't rape her, what did you do?" I ask, finding my voice before Ingo's pants drop. Regardless of the gravity of the situation, there are things in life that I will never, ever want to see.

I thank the Goddesses as he stops moving, his pants still around his waist. "I didn't rape her." His voice is grating, and I catch the defensive tone.

"What did you do, then?"

The silence is unbearable. Why won't he answer me? Before I scream in frustration, he answers me. "Nothing too serious. I tried to touch her chest after she said no. I called her rude names."

I start to sit up, but he kicks me in the chest, and I hit the floor hard. The back of my skull aches, and my vision swims. "She stood up for herself, unlike you," he continues, his voice full of anger, mocking, and sadness all at once. "She was almost nobility, you know. But you're scum compared to her. She was a ranch owner, and you're just a farm girl."

He's right, but not about everything; I don't think I qualify as scum, especially compared to the man who has intentions to rape me. But I haven't stood up for myself to this point. My mother asserted herself. She said no and pushed his hands away. I took everything quietly, hoping that it would stop, but never actively trying for change.

"I'm not just a farm girl," I growl, and I push myself up slowly with my elbows.

Ingo begins to re-buckle his belt, which sends rays of relief through my body. But he's rolling up he sleeves. "You're making this harder than it needs to be," he grunts. It's a battle he wants, and I realize that this is the most the two of us have spoken to each other during the past two months.

He backs up to kick me again, and time seems to slow down just a bit. I'm still pushing myself up, and I'm almost in a full sitting position with my legs stretched out. I have a very short period of time to do anything. But the anything I do works: I support myself on my forearms and kick Ingo's other leg out from under him.

He falls to the floor with a crash and a shout. I push myself up, but by the time I manage to stand, he has also risen, and his eyes are filled with rage. I just glare right back as my fist flies into his cheek bone. "Don't you dare touch me!" I shout, forgetting that Dad isn't supposed to know about any of this.

I shake out my fingers as they recover from the shock that comes with retaliation. Ingo is breathing heavily through his own pain, but he lunges at me again, his eyes rolling wildly. "Marin!" he shouts.

I shove him away as his greasy hands grab at my robe. "I'm Malon!" I shriek at him, forgetting coolness, calmness, and dignity. "I am not my mother!" He reaches up from the floor and tried to pull himself up with my robe. I return the favor he has granted me so many times by kicking him in the side. Even in this situation, I grimace at the fact that I'm kicking someone while he lies in a defensive and weak position. "I do own this ranch," I say with less volume, and it's only now that I realize that I'm sobbing. "And you're fired! My mother was right never to let you near the ranch. Pack your things and get out of here! You will not be receiving this week's pay!" As if pay actually matters anymore. I would pay him twice his earnings to get him out of my sight.

"Malon?" My head snaps from the floor to the doorway. Ingo left the door open, and Dad stands there, his legs and his voice trembling. I step over Ingo, who's clutching his face with one hand and his gut with the other, and I pull Dad's arm around my shoulders to support him. "Malon, what just happened here? Whose blood is that?"

I stare at the spot on the floor where there are thin blood stains, and I move a hand to check my sides. Sure enough, my hand comes off of each side sticky with crimson blood. "It's mine, Dad, but it's not as bad as it looks."

His sputters of disbelief are incoherent as he stares at his best friend. I sigh and lead him back to his room. I convince him to get back into his bed as I stick my head back into my room to see Ingo rising slowly. "Out. Now," I tell him, my voice as full of venom as it possibly can be. "And leave the keys."

I return to Dad's room, and I stupidly hold my bloodied hands out to reassure him. Seeing the blood on them has the opposite effect. "Malon, what in tarnation happened?"

I explain as I wash my hands off in Dad's basin after peeling off my sticky robe, which changes nothing about the state of my nightgown or body. "Dad, Mom didn't like Ingo because he tried to take advantage of her."

"I always thought it was something like that."

I turn to him, surprised. "You did? But...but why did you hire him afterwards?"

"Sweetie, after she was gone, I needed the help. And your mother was safe from whatever harm he could do to her."

I swallow nervously. "Dad, I look a lot like Mom, don't I?"

He sighs heavily. "Malon, I wish you had told me." There are tears in his voice.

"You knew?"

"No, but I wouldn't have been surprised. Did you think I wouldn't have believed you?"

"No, but…Well, do you think things would have stopped if I hadn't stopped him myself?"

He shakes his head sadly. "No, I suppose not. How long has this been going on?"

"He's been trying to sexually assault me for a year," I admit. "He started hitting me when you got sick." I hear Ingo moving past the door and down the stairs. I move to the window to look out. "This is the second time that he's tried and failed to actually rape me, but I think he wanted to kill me almost as much." I watch as Ingo goes into his room. "He tried to suffocate me tonight before he did anything else."

I observe Ingo walking out of his room as Dad and I continue to quietly discuss more of the same. "Hold on," I tell him, remembering the issue of the keys. I run down the stairs and out the door as quickly as I can, and I intercept Nemesis as he's crossing the courtyard. "Keys," I say firmly.

He hands over six keys, one of which does not belong to him. The first key is the key to my room, which he stole while I slept. The second is the key to his room. Three, four, and five are for the house, the barn, and the corral. The final key is to the front gate, and after he hands it to me, I stride through the pain and unlock the wrought-iron. He glares at me as he moves past me and out into the four o'clock mist. I return his glare, not with warmth or coldness, but with fire. If you mess with a farm girl, you're going to mess with all the stallions, mares, colts, fillies, cows, calves, sheep, and cuccos that she represents. Especially the cuccos, as Link will only be too happy to agree with.

I lock the gate behind me and return to Dad's room, where I finish the retelling. I manage not to cry, although Dad grows teary-eyed several times. Up until this point, I had always assumed that I could never tell anyone. Would it have been easier to have confided in Dad earlier? Or even Link? But as my story pours forth, I know that I can only fix what's been broken, for what has happened has happened.

* * *

Thanks, everyone, for reading. There you have it: the confrontation. I hope it wasn't disappointing or anything. I had to rewrite this chapter about seven hundred and fifty three times (minus seven hundred and fifty) to get it right, so I hope you enjoy it.

Final chapter coming soon (all together now: awwwwww), and then I have no idea what to write. Sadly, don't expect a story from me when I have no inspiration :-(


	16. Chapter Sixteen

A week has passed since I sent Ingo away and washed the blood from my floorboards. The smears have left a faint stain, as if I need more of a reminder of what happened. My sides still ache from the toe of Ingo's boot; after coming clean to Dad, I took a bath and washed off the stickiness. On either side of my body, there are now crusty scabs in small crescent shapes, randomly scattered from my breasts to my hips. There is also a sole-shaped bruise between my breasts from when Ingo kicked me down, and breathing still hurts slightly. The pain, however, means that I'm still alive, and the more frequent cracking of my right knuckles also serves to represent my triumphant retaliation.

I wake up this morning with a mission. Now that Dad is finally well enough to take care of the necessary chores, I am free to rescue my hero, and to clear the air between us so that he can see all that has happened. I get up slowly, and as I massage the stiffness out of my back, I see a soft whiteness outside of my window. I rise and glance to the meter-stick we've placed against the barn, and even though the numbers and lines are impossible to read from my room, I can see that we've gotten a few inches. The snow flakes ease my nerves enough for me to sigh, neither sadly nor contently.

It's still very early, but I want to be up even if Dad's taking over the work for today. I head downstairs while still in my nightgown and robe, which are new. Dad insisted I go to market this week to buy new clothes to replace all of my clothes that had been ruined in the past couple of months. He also had me take the money that should have been Ingo's monthly wages. "Buy yourself something nice," he had told me as he closed my fingers around the rupees with his hand. And I had.

Soon, a fresh stack of pancakes and a plate of sunny-side-up eggs sit on the table, and I sit down as Dad stumbles in sleepily. I grin at him. "Welcome back to work," I say with a chuckle.

He sits down and smiles at me, and then at the food. "It's good to be back, ladies and gents! Ah, and so nice to have real food for breakfast."

"Are you implying that the soup I made for you wasn't real food?"

The answer I receive is only a wink, but I know he's just kidding around. It's just been so long since he's been up and about, spreading his usual good cheer.

After the meal, Dad sets out into the snow after we have a short disagreement on his outerwear. I win when I remind him that he very well can't afford to get sick again. I watch him until the door of the barn closes after him, and then I clean up the dishes as quickly as I can. I have to hurry so I can take a bath and wait for my hair to dry.

After washing my body carefully, I rewrap all of my bandages, although not as thickly as usual. Besides, the wounds are healing, even if they are healing slowly. I sigh as I reach for my new undergarments, which are not nearly as comfortable or practical as my usual ones. But today isn't an ordinary day, and I'm not going to be out in the barn, milking cows and mucking out stalls. Nor am I wearing a work dress.

I run a brush through my hair every few minutes as it dries; the last thing my resolve needs is a bad hair day. I can't throw my hair up in a ponytail today, nor can I assume that any frizz will soon be slicked down with dirt and sweat. Instead, I have to hope that my hair is heavy enough to weigh itself down, but light enough to dry before the end of the year. I pace my room in my underwear and gauze as the water evaporates, leaving my neck sticky; I blot the area with a dry towel.

Soon, I've already run into a problem, one that I've never faced before. How do other women deal with this? I can't possibly walk in the snow in my new shoes. Stockings and boots would be a great idea for this weather, but there's no way I can leave the ranch in stockings and boots and arrive in the dainty slippers I've just purchased. Even if I could change at any point, my feet would be sweaty and dirty, and they would also look slightly discolored from the pressure of the fabric. No, this isn't going to work. I run my hands through my new skirts and sigh. While I push the shoe problem out of my mind so I can solve it at the last minute, I pull my hair back as best I can, although my bangs still come loose to frame my face. It's hopeless, but it will have to do. My fingers shake as I fasten my new necklace around my throat.

Well, it's not mine, and it's not new either. In fact, I had seen the emerald pendant on its silver chain grace the neck of my mother in her wedding portrait. It had been my grandmother's before that, and my mother had received it as a gift when she announced her engagement to Dad. Dad gave it to me earlier in the week, when I showed him my new dress. He said he never thought he'd see a fabric that matched the gemstone so well, but I also believe that he was giving it to me now as a blessing of sorts. Either way, I feel more like a lady and less like a farm girl as I gaze at my face in the mirror. My green-blue eyes blink; I no longer see my mother there instead of me.

As I fasten my cloak around my shoulders and throw up the hood, Dad presents a solution to my shoe problem. I grab Link's dia—journal and open the door to find that Dad has spent some time digging out the snow and putting down a few planks of wood for me to walk on. Epona trots out of the barn, and I rebel against my impulse to throw my arms around her neck; I have to do my best to keep horsehair off of the satin that rustles around me. Ingo was always paid more than a normal farmhand was, but I was still surprised that I could afford the gown that I picked out. Soon, I'm riding sidesaddle on Epona's back, and we're off through the fresh snow. Our tracks are the only ones.

As we ride through the market, I run the plan through my head. Dad says that when he used to personally deliver milk to the castle, he'd take it to the kitchens and speak with the head chefs. Now, the Royal Family chefs send pages and servants to market to buy supplies, although we are still the ones they buy from. Dad has gone to visit the chefs from time to time, however, to make sure that they are satisfied with our produce. I am going to use that as an excuse to get into the castle.

Epona and I reach the gate to the castle, and my eyes widen slightly at its size; not only do towers touch the sky from every possible corner of the building, but the castle sprawls over the hilltops. My task of finding Link has now become considerably more difficult. And before I can even get to the castle itself, I must face the gatekeeper.

He's a nondescript young man, dressed in the standard issue mail and crest, as well as a heavy cloak for the weather. He has both a sword and a spear, and if I weren't trying to make a good impression, I would snort as he raises an eyebrow at me in approval.

"Now, what is a lovely young lady doing, riding about in such weather?" he asks, and I can tell that this isn't the standard questioning. I'm sure that if my features weren't so regular, I'd be greeted more brusquely.

I simply stare at him, my nose up a little bit. "Kind sir," I begin with a small smile, "to what do you owe the strength that has helped you join the ranks of Hyrule's finest?"

He seems a little flattered at the question. "Oh, just a few things, miss." I want to laugh at the silly grin on his face; he thinks that I'm trying to flirt with him. "I always got fresh air and exercise, I trained real hard, and I always made sure to drink three glasses of Lon Lon milk a day."

I win.

"Really?" I asked, feigning fascination slightly. I feel a little guilty at my desire to embarrass this soldier, but to be fair, he shouldn't be conversing with me like this, especially since I want to get inside before something happens to my shoes, my dress, or my hair. I worked hard to look nice today, and I have the incredible ability to attract bad luck. Please, Goddesses, any day but today.

And so I continue. "Lon Lon milk?" He nods, and I laugh lightly. "What a coincidence! I also drink Lon Lon milk."

"It's the best there is, miss," the soldier says, grinning and winking at me. I almost want to vomit.

"I'm glad you think so," I tell him, a fake smile plastered on my face. "As the owner of Lon Lon Ranch, it always makes me happy to know that our produce is indeed as fine as we advertise. And to think that maybe I bottled the very milk that gave you your strength! I _have _been milking cows since I was five, after all. What a small world! In fact, I'm on my way to speak with the chefs about their satisfaction with Lon Lon produce right now!"

He lets me through the gate without another word. The best part is that I probably _did _milk the cows from which he got his strength. But I sigh sadly as Epona walks up the gravel track on her own accord; I wish I had a better reason to be here today. I hate sneaking around.

Epona leads me to the Royal stables, and all the stable hands call out to her; up until this moment, I had completely forgotten that Link would have stabled Epona here several times over the last six years. Everyone seems a little surprised to see a red-haired woman riding the mare instead of the blond hero, but no one accepts the tip that I offer as Epona walks to what appears to be her own stall. "Epona's an old friend," they assure me, and I want to find a place to kneel down and cry; Link has provided the best care for Epona, and it's better than anything I could supply.

A page takes my cloak and directs me to the castle entrance nearest the stables, and he insists on directing me to the kitchens himself. I've run into another problem it seems; if I actually were trying to find the kitchens, I would gladly accept his offer. But how am I supposed to explain that I've lied about my purpose here? I find myself silenced as he begins to walk into the castle, and I have little choice but to follow. He probably won't remain in the kitchens after I get there. Maybe I can have a quick conversation with the chefs before leaving to find Link.

As we make our way to the kitchens, though, I begin to doubt that I will be able to find Link at all. The page has found a torch, and the flame lights the way through the dark corridors. The young man is droning a bit about how these passages make it possible to get from point A to point B in the castle within ten minutes, regardless of where you start and where you're heading. I wonder if the suffocating feeling is worth the trouble; I get the same feeling from the dark and narrow hallways as I did from the walls and fences of the ranch when Ingo was still a ranch hand there. And these ten minutes seem like hours, and as we take another right hand turn at a fork, I realize that once I escape the kitchens, I won't have any idea of how to find Link's rooms _or _exit the castle.

My eyes blink as I suddenly come into a well-lit room that smells wonderful. We have finally reached the kitchens, and the page bids me farewell and informs me that my cloak will be taken back to the stables; I hardly finish thanking him before he melts back into the darkness. Incredible scents assail me as I take in my new surroundings, and my vision is still spotty from the labyrinth. There is hustle and bustle near the massive sinks as servants wash the dishes from the lunches that have just been eaten all over the castle, and my stomach gurgles to remind me that breakfast was a thousand years in the past. I'm still blinking the lights out of my startled eyes as a very official-looking chef comes up to me with a slightly concerned look on his face.

"Can I help you, my lady?" he asks me kindly. I want to correct him and tell him that I'm not a lady, but I restrain myself.

"Um, sorry," I say. "Just a little dazzled, that's all. Are you the head chef?"

"Yes, my lady, I am."

"Oh, good. I'm from Lon Lon Ranch, actually."

His face lights up, and I want to shield my eyes from the brightness that I've encountered here. "Oh, my goodness, are you Miss Malon? You look just like your mother!"

Oh, goodie. "Thank you, sir, I am Malon. I was just wondering how, um…" I hadn't thought any of this through, even though I had plenty of time to do so during the trek here. "Are you satisfied with the produce we've supplied you with?" Ah, there, I've found the words.

"Oh, most definitely, miss," he replies, and I'm grateful that he's switched from the formal "my lady" to the more casual "miss." I might be all dressed up, but I'm a commoner. "Recently, when you stopped selling at market, we had to try another ranch's produce, and believe me, it wasn't nearly as good." Even though I have another goal here at the castle, I am relieved to know that my absence from market has actually increased our popularity.

"I'm very glad to hear that," I answer sincerely. "My father actually just recovered from a serious illness, and while I was taking care of him, I didn't have time to come to market."

"Oh, well, I'm glad to know that he's gotten better! My son was sick recently, too, and I had to take a couple of weeks off. I never like the feeling of being away from my work like that. Sometimes, I just wanted to rush over here and make sure that everything was being done right. I know, it sounds funny, but—oh!" I hear footsteps behind me, and the chef chuckles. "If you're down here for another snack, His Majesty will have my neck. He'd rather you ate with the family."

He can't possibly be talking to me, and so I move aside so whoever is behind me can enter. I just want to end this conversation so I can get lost in the castle and find myself at Link's door.

"Come on, Maximus," says a familiar voice with an unfamiliar heaviness to it, and I stiffen with apprehension.

"Link, it's not such a chore to show your face, you know." Maximus has moved deeper into the kitchen, and he's searching some cabinets. "I'll make you something easy and quick, but you really need to snap out of this funk. Besides, I'm speaking with a guest."

I can feel Link's eyes on me as he turns to me, and that feeling couldn't have been stronger unless he touched me with his own hands. My heart skips at least three beats, and dizziness assails me as I turn to face him. I have no idea what my face looks like, although I'm trying to look as deeply sorry as I can without throwing myself to his feet and begging for forgiveness. I doubt that I would do such a thing; I want forgiveness, but I also want respect.

His face is blank, and I want to smack him and yell at him. I have never felt as desperate for a display of emotion as I am now. I want to see him sad or angry; I want a sign that there is still a feeling that he experiences when he looks at me. It seems so unfair that he is unaffected by the sight of me when just the thought of him sends emotions bubbling through me. But in a split second, he turns the other way and begins to walk swiftly into the darkness.

"Link, where are you going?" I hear Maximus call out, but the chef's voice sounds as if it's a million miles away. I can barely see Link as he navigates the darkness by memory; I clutch his di—journal and follow him as quickly as I can in my slippers. I won't dare call out his name until I can make sure he won't run away.

I am so thankful that I didn't stick with my original plan; once again, I would never find my way through these passages. Finally, after ten minutes or so, the dank passageway opens into a brightly lit corridor with doors lining the walls. Near the end of the hall, Link turns and opens a door. I'm close enough behind that it's still open as I rush up to it and push myself against it. I have to keep it open; I can't let him lock it.

"Malon, move," he said gruffly.

"Link, no. We need to talk." There are so many things you need to know. "I didn't get all dressed up to talk to the chefs."

"Go home, Malon." His voice is a hoarse whisper. He's about to cry, I think. Part of me feels terrible for pushing him to tears, but part of me feels triumphant that he is not unaffected. But he's still trying to push the door closed.

I'm already crying as the consequences of giving up rise to my mind. This is my last chance; this is what I wanted to do when he first walked away after our kiss. Link never gave up during any of his seemingly hopeless quests and adventures, and I will not give up now. "Link, let me in. Please." I don't want to make him feel guilty, but a sob tears through my throat. I can see and hear and feel all of the times we spent together. The kiss replays another thirty times in the span of a few seconds. The words in his d—journal dance in front of my eyes. "Link, please!"

And the pressure against my back disappears, and I slip a little. I expect to hit the floor, landing on my tailbone, since it would fit the shame I feel. Instead, a pair of arms catches me, lifts me up, and turns me around so I can look into the face of my dearest friend. Oh, Goddesses, he was trying not to cry, and I think that my own tears have freed his own. But he doesn't pull me close, although I think he almost does. He's remembered, though, that he's mad at me, and he merely shuts the door behind me, locks it, and moves to the other side of his apartment.

His apartment is beautiful, to say the least. He has his own library of books along an entire wall, and a desk with papers scattered all over its varnished surface. His sitting area is a little messy, and a tray of unfinished breakfast sits on a coffee table. I remember that he's been taking his meals privately, or at least that's what the tray and the chef lead me to believe. Link also has a corner of the room where weapons and equipment lie haphazardly in cubbies and lean against shelves. He is not the most organized of men, clearly. At the end of the room is a glass door with its curtain pulled aside, and I can see the snow falling on the balcony that lies on the other side. On the right and the left are two doors, and I realize that one must lead to a washroom, and the other must lead to the bedroom. My cheeks feel hot again.

But Link is standing a ways away, trying to hide his un-heroic tears. I wish he would yell at me so I could yell my story at him, but it is I who must start things off. I remember that I'm holding the book.

"Here's your diary," I say, holding it out towards him.

He walks over to me and pulls it from my hands. "Journal," he whispers, and I can't believe he really cares what it's called. It's a book that you write in, for Goddess's sake…

Silence fills the room once again, and the cold silence between us and the cold silence of the snow are two very different things. I don't know how to begin, or where. My brilliant plan that has worked so far didn't include this little technicality. But the…journal is a starting place.

"You're wrong, Link," I say gently. "I am the same Malon as…as you knew before, during the other timeline." He turns to me, silently daring me to show how I could possibly prove my statement. "I wasn't trying to reject you that night. I wanted to tell you, Link…I wanted to tell you why I had to pull away. I was trying to protect you because I _do _like you, Link." Goddesses, it is _much _harder to tell someone that you like them when you actually have to say it. "Reading your feelings for me in your journal was like reading my own feelings for you."

"Then why won't you trust me?" He is still convinced that I find him untrustworthy.

I shake my head at him and I scan the room for something that I can use to clean my face of tears. I don't see anything for that purpose, so I look back at him. I know I look terrible when I cry. "Link, I trust you with my life. I trust you with everything. It wasn't about you."

"Why, is there someone else?" His voice is rising, and he's shaking slightly.

I throw my hands up in frustration. "Link, there is only one man whose arms I want around me, and it's _you._ But there are more complicated things than whether I like you or not!"

I was shouting, and now he's shouting, too. "What, did Ingo threaten to hurt the animals or something if you dated me? Malon, you read my journal! I _fixed _that! There is no abuse!"

He's given me the perfect opening, and I will take it. I fear his reaction more than I've ever feared anything else before. Will he believe me? Will he still want me? Will it be a guilt trip? But over and over in my head, I can hear my mother asking herself why she never told my father the truth, and I know that there are really no other options for me now. And Link's words are ringing in my head. _No abuse?_

"There isn't any abuse _anymore_, Link, because _I_ ended it a week ago!" I'm surprised at the sharpness and pitch of my voice as I shriek at him. But I feel so angry and far away as I tremble in front of Link, who is staring at me with doubt and disbelief all over his handsome face. No more words will fall from my mouth all of a sudden. But then I remember that the door is locked, and Link has already seen all there is to see.

My hands shake as I reach behind me to undo the clasp at the back of my dress. I ignore Link as he starts to say my name softly in confusion. And my face burns as I shrug my arms from my sleeves and push the bodice of my gown off of the yellow and blue bruises of my skin, and Link grows silent. Soon, the emerald gown purchased with Ingo's money lies off to the side, and I stand before Link in only my undergarments. The bottom of the shoe-shaped bruise is showing from under the bandeau around my breasts, and the crescent scabs and the violet splotches tell the story that refuses to go beyond my lips. I could tell Dad, somehow, but I can only show Link.

And now he's beside me, his hands gently caressing my neck as I finish choking back my tears. "I'll kill him," I can hear him mutter. His hands are warm. My awareness of my nakedness changes from shame to a different sort of embarrassment. Although Link may have known me in the most intimate of ways, I am unable to remember it. This is the first time that I've been so naked in front of any man before, but I suppose that I do feel a little more comfortable with the fact that Link has already seen my skin.

"Link, it's over," and once those words are out of my mouth, I realize that he thinks I'm talking about our relationship. "I mean, this," and I gesture to my battle wounds. "He tried to rape or murder me last week, I'm not sure which. And I finally fought back, and then I fired him. He's not coming back." My hands on Link's chest curl into fists as the adrenaline from last week courses through my veins.

"I could make sure he'd never come back," Link says firmly.

"This is why I couldn't tell you," I sternly point out. "Murder is murder, no matter who kills and who dies. And this was my battle to fight, not yours." But I wrap my arms around him. "But thank you for giving me the motivation I needed."

He's unsure of himself as he returns the embrace, and while I figure that it's mostly because of his reluctance to cause me pain, I suspect that he might also be nervous about the fact that I'm only half-dressed. "What motivation?" he asks, and his curiosity is genuine.

I roll my eyes and kiss him quickly, but firmly. "That, you idiot," I say with a small laugh. He's still the naïve Fairy Boy that I've been friends with for so long, no matter what we've been through. Just as he's feared that I am a different Malon, I now realize that I've been afraid of losing the Link that I've been friends with for so long. And now we are reassuring each other that we are the same people; we've simply been through situations that change everything.

One hand strokes my hair, and I find it oddly soothing since my hair cannot feel. Link then frowns. "Malon, why didn't you tell me this before? You could have talked me out of doing anything really…stupid."

He is right; he wouldn't have hurt Ingo if I had told him not to. But then again, he might have insisted on taking care of things himself. This wasn't his job to do. "I couldn't face you unless I could tell you the truth," I tell him. "And I couldn't tell you the truth until I could stop the pain myself." My voice trails off slightly. The pain is still there, although I won't admit to Link that his fingernail is poking a scab a little too much. The scab means that I'm healing, and the discomfort is inconsequential.

He pulls me closer. "Malon, I'm so sorry for how I acted."

I don't want to talk about this anymore. "Link, I want to move on for now," I tell him gently. "I'll give you whatever details you want later, and you can apologize in the most fantastic way you can, but for now…I want to move on."

And so we move on, and for the first time in my six years, or Link's fourteen, we move on together. The details and stories can wait until later; right now, we hold onto what's most important.

* * *

The end. Thank you all for reading, and thank you if you've reviewed. It's been really difficult to write this story, but very worthwhile, and I hope that you all can enjoy it for both the top layer (plain old plot) and for the various layers I've added underneath. I've done my best to avoid fluff (which makes for great daydreams, but terrible writing), and I hope that this fluffless story still makes Malon-Link shippers happy without losing sight of the purpose. 

So once again, thank you, everyone.


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